


deliverance

by catching_paper_moons



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Spies & Secret Agents, Angst with a Happy Ending, Gun Violence, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Spies & Secret Agents, gary bettman is the worst and i really just wanted to write that into a fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-28
Updated: 2018-10-28
Packaged: 2019-08-09 02:46:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 20,521
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16441541
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/catching_paper_moons/pseuds/catching_paper_moons
Summary: de·liv·er·ance/dəˈliv(ə)rəns/the action of being rescued or set freeJordan misses Edmonton. Jordan hates New York. Jordan also has to save the world.





	deliverance

**Author's Note:**

> well this was exciting, scary, and crazy! can't believe i wrote 20k about some spies. this has been on-going since march, and the idea has been in my head since 2016, and i've finally done it. thank you to blueorangecrush who did the fantastic mix which I will link in the end notes, and my lovely beta j! i hope you enjoy.
> 
> this work can get heavy. if it becomes too much, that's okay. please see the end notes for more in depth warnings!
> 
> this is a work of fiction: any resemblance to real life events is coincidental. 
> 
> title inspired by the song "Deliverance" by CHVRCHES.

Jordan wakes up in a cold sweat in his apartment, and answers his phone. An automated voice-over gives him a new assignment to New York and he lays back down, staring at the ceiling. His brain is an endless loop of “none of this would have happened if…” and he can’t get it to stop. He picks up his phone and listens to his voicemail.

“Hey, it’s me, again,” he hears. He squeezes his eyes shut. “Um, just. Whenever you wake up, give me a call. I’m waiting for it.” He presses end and begins to pack. He’ll have to move quickly, but luckily this space isn’t homey enough for him to feel nostalgic. He can fit most of what he owns in a medium sized suitcase and a duffel, and he heads to the airport. He catches a glimpse of what might be a shooting star, makes a wish, and then shakes his head as the cab driver pulls to a stop outside the airport.

“You often make late night flights?” he asks. Jordan smiles wryly as he hands a twenty over.

“Sometimes,” he says, and then the cab driver leaves. He takes a deep breath and thinks,  _ well, here goes nothing _ .

 

* * *

 

By the time Jordan lands, the agency has sent a car to pick him up. “You SA Eberle?” the driver asks as Jordan slides in the front. 

“Yes,” he answers, and shows his credentials. The man smiles. “Who are you?”

“I’m SA Tavares. Welcome to New York.” He pulls out from where he’d been idling, and Jordan is acutely aware for the first time that New York driving and Edmonton driving are two  _ very _ different beasts. 

“Is traffic always like this?” he asks after they’ve been stopped a few minutes on an exit ramp. Tavares snorts. “No, really. Always?”

“This is considered light,” he answers, and Jordan resists the urge to bang his head against the window, or tuck and roll out of the car, or anything that would keep him from making conversation with this guy. “Your assignment permanent?”

“Not sure,” Jordan answers, because he’s hoping he’ll go back to Edmonton. While he’s a great special agent (his boss’s words, not his), Edmonton and the work they do is much more his speed than the New York office. The New York office handles some of the biggest cases in the world before they become the big cases you see on the news. And while 21 year old Jordan fresh out of the academy would have  _ loved  _ that, 28 year old Jordan is less inclined to like it here. He had people he liked in Edmonton. People he loved. 

“Well, make the most of it, eh?” Tavares says, and Jordan blinks at the Canadian slip up. “Heard you got the new guy.”

“ _ I’m _ the new guy and they gave  _ me _ a new guy?” Jordan asks. “Tavares, Explain.”

“That’s for Dougie to tell you,” Tavares says. He leaves no room for argument; Jordan wonders if he’s the unofficial team captain or something. “And call me John.”

  
  


Jordan is shown his desk, given his badge, his new credentials, an increased security clearance, which is a bonus, and a time to go test his weapon capability. He sees an enthusiastic young guy with pep in his step and thinks,  _ please god no _ .

“Hi,” the man says, stopping in front of him. “You must be SA Eberle?”

“I am,” he answers warily. He recognizes that he sounds grumpy, but he can’t bring himself to care. “You are…?”

“SA Barzal. You’re my new partner, yeah?” Barzal blinks and all Jordan can see is a guy who’s too young, hasn’t been broken by anything yet, and is clearly fresh out of the academy. He shakes his head.

“So you’re the rookie who graduated at the top of his class,” he says, and Barzal starts to smile. “Don’t take that as a compliment. We’ll see how you translate in real world situations.” He watches Barzal’s smile falter a bit, but he trucks on. “That desk yours?”

“Yeah, yeah, we’re desk partners, too,” Barzal says, seemingly unfazed. Jordan’s trained to see what people aren’t telling him, though, and Barzal’s slight shift in body language and vocal tone indicates he’s a little upset that Jordan rained on his parade. “I mean, like. Obviously you’re more experienced, and when I said new partner I meant only, obviously, I’m really new at this. I just know you’re one of the best, you know? You and SA Hall–”

“We did a lot of good,” Jordan says, cutting him off. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Yeah, of course,” Barzal replies. “Sorry to bring it up.”

“Thanks.” Jordan checks his watch and gestures to the exit. “I’ve got weapons testing now, so.” He shrugs and starts to walk out, but Barzal calls out to him. He turns, expectant.

“Weapons training is this way,” Barzal says, and he looks sheepish.  _ Good _ . Jordan narrows his eyes and walks the other direction. He’s not sure he likes this new guy. 

 

When he goes into his new boss’s office later, he’s got a list of things that he wants to say, but they all die on his lips when SSA Weight greets him. He tries to gather his courage, though; it’s difficult.

“So, Barzal–”

“Is not a New Agent Trainee, no,” Weight says. “He’s a Special Agent. He went through training last year. He’s a rookie, but he’s good. And no, you’re not getting switched.” Weight raises an eyebrow, and Jordan shuts his mouth. “Anything else about him?”

“No,” Jordan says quickly. “No, nothing, sir.”

“Good,” Weight says. “Sorry about the quick turnaround. We needed you here immediately.”

“Of course, it was no problem,” Jordan says. He takes a deep breath. There’s a lull in the conversation, and Jordan thinks there might have been some miscommunication. “Sir? What is it that you need me for, exactly?”

“Oh. Well,” Weight starts. “There’s been an attack on our field office in Paris.” Jordan blinks. “You and SA Barzal have been instructed to start investigations there, and if it turns out to be something substantial, you will rejoin the team here and we will work out a plan.”

“What kind of attack?” Jordan asks.

“It was late at night, only one witness. They broke in, stole documents, and left. That’s all we know.” Weight stands up. “I trust this will be conducted in a timely manner.”

“Of course,” Jordan says. “Yes. When do we leave?” 

“Thirty.” Weight gestures to the door. “Barzal already knows. He’s good, but you’re here to help him, too. I expect your best and only that.” It’s a dismissal if Jordan’s ever heard one, so he heads out to the common room. Mat’s pulling a duffle out from under his desk, and Jordan thinks that he’s incredibly not ready.

 

* * *

 

Jordan is looking over case documents on one end of the plane, having no desire to know what Barzal is doing, but Barzal sits down in front of him, and Jordan looks up and rubs his forehead. He hasn’t really absorbed any of the information in front of him, yet, and he definitely doesn’t want to talk to Barzal. He looks up, and Barzal’s eying him with a weird expression that Jordan can’t quite make out.

“Can we talk?” Barzal asks. Jordan sighs, and Mat rolls his eyes. “Not about life, asshole. About the case.”

“Oh,” Jordan says, sitting up. “By all means, Barzal.”

“Well, first, my name is Mat, you can use it,” he says, opening his folder. Jordan blinks rapidly, vaguely offended. Barzal--Mat--rolls his eyes. “Second, don’t give me that look. Third, I’m still unclear on how they got into the building. You have any thoughts?”

“My first thought was obviously disabled alarm, but that’d be difficult if they’re an outside party, so maybe coercion?” Jordan points to an area on his tablet that shows where the witness claims the point of entry was. “If they put a gun to my head, I’d be likely to punch in the alarm code.”

“See, I thought that too,” Mat starts, and then he bites his lip, shakes his head. “And it works; there’s no foreign fingerprints on the pad. But, if it had been coercion, wouldn’t we have two witnesses at least?” Jordan sighs heavily. “Yeah, I know. There’s ways that doesn’t pan out, too. They could’ve killed the second witness, but wouldn’t we have a reported death or missing person if the body wasn’t found, and also a witness who heard the gunshot?”

“Are you saying you think it’s an inside job?” Jordan says. “Because that’s bold, and you’re new.”

“I’m an agent now, though,” Mat says. “I’ve been working on this theory for a year. I’m not saying I’m right in any way. I just don’t think it’s fair to write off an inside job immediately.”

“A year?” Jordan asks. He’s intrigued, now. He knew Mat had experience, but he was unaware that experience extended to something like this. “I thought this was the first.”

“They brought you in because no one on our team is doing  _ shit _ ,” Mat says quietly. “You’re a risk taker, right?” Jordan keeps his face neutral. “I’ve read up on you, man. They brought you in because their “hands are tied.”” Mat over exaggerates his air quotes. Jordan gets the feeling he’s explained this before. “But something’s weird.”

“There’s not a conspiracy, Barzal,” Jordan says, but Mat sighs again.

“It’s Mat.” Mat points to Jordan’s diagram forcefully. “Look at what we’ve got, and tell me that doesn’t point to an inside job. I’m not saying I’m right. I’m just saying we can’t rule it out.”

Jordan looks at his evidence. And he doesn’t  _ want _ to admit it, but Mat could be right. There’s the lack of foreign fingerprints and the lack of a second witness, and the fact that no one noticed a thing until it was too late. “Fuck,” Jordan says, and Mat sits back, content. “Fine. We’ll look into it.”

“Look,” Mat starts, but then he seems to realize where they are. “No, never mind. Later. Let’s just keep reviewing case notes, see if anything else jumps out.”

“I’m gonna...bathroom,” Jordan says in response, and Mat just shrugs, already engrossed in his notes as Jordan walks away. Jordan looks back, annoyed with Mat and himself.

Jordan wants to be grumpy so  _ fucking  _ bad. He doesn’t want to be in New York, doesn’t think he  _ should  _ be in New York after what happened, and yet here he is, his first field assignment back with a Special Agent who just got Special Agent status, who already had higher clearance than him because of his location and what he’d been working on. And thinking of who  _ he  _ was at 23, he’d wanted a rookie to yell at and take his frustration out on because this rookie would be reckless and stupid, just the same way he was—the same way Hallsy was. But it must have been something in the water for that class, because when they got McDavid in Edmonton he was that same studious, hardworking type, and really, Jordan should’ve fucking known this guy was going to be good. That agent class had been deep, deeper than it should’ve been. 

Jordan should’ve known this wasn’t going to be easy. 

 

* * *

 

“Bonjour,” the man at the front desk says, and Jordan’s eyes widen. “Tes affaires?”

“Uh,” Jordan starts, but Mat takes over, smoothly.

“Nous sommes avec la filiale de New York,” he says. “Nous menons une enquête.” Jordan blinks.

“Ah, oui, d’accord,” the man says. “Suivez-moi.” Jordan stands there until Mat motions to him, and Jordan follows. 

“Thought you spoke French,” Mat whispers to him as they follow the man up some stairs. Jordan can hear the smile in his voice, and he wants to punch him in the face. “It’s on your resume.”

“I should update that,” Jordan says absentmindedly, and Mat snorts. “I could speak French when I applied. It’s rusty now. I’m better at Urdu and Swahili.”

“I got you covered, man, don’t worry,” Mat says, and now Jordan  _ really _ wants to punch him. Mat looks at the front desk attendant. “Merci beaucoup.”

“Avec plaisir,” he says, and then he disappears from whence he came. Jordan blinks. 

“French immersion,” Mat says, understanding Jordan’s silent inquiry. “I’ve been fluent for a while.”

“Oh,” Jordan says. “I see.” It’s awkward for a moment.

“Hello,” a voice says from behind them, and they both turn. “I’m SSA Anderson. You are?”

“Special Agent Eberle, and my partner, Special Agent Barzal,” Jordan answers, and they all shake hands. “We’re here to investigate the break-in. We were sent by SSA Weight.”

“Yes, yes,” Anderson says, clapping his hands together. “Thank you for coming on such short notice.”

“It was no problem,” Mat responds easily, and Jordan thinks, not for the first time, that whoever trained him trained him well. He looks comfortable. It’s more than Jordan can say for his own first field placement. “Can we review any tape you have? Our files lacked video.”

“Video is going to be hard,” Anderson says, and Mat and Jordan both furrow their brows and tilt their heads slightly. Anderson seems unfazed. “We just updated our security system.”

“Before the break-in?” Mat asks.

“After,” Anderson replies. Mat frowns.

“Don’t you keep your records of old security footage?” Jordan asks. “That is protocol, correct?” 

“You guys can look,” Anderson says, and from what Jordan can see, he seems genuinely apologetic. “I would hope that we have them, but even though our security is done in home, I don’t know how much is left.”

“We’d love to take a look at least,” Jordan says. He gestures out the door. “Show us the way?”

A security officer logs them into a computer and leaves them to it. Mat frowns again. “Weird,” he says. Jordan thinks he’s referring to Anderson’s initial hesitance in letting them see the footage, so he just shrugs. Mat shakes his head. “He’s right though—it’s not here.”

“At all?” Jordan asks. He makes a face. “You good at tech?”

“Decent,” Mat says. “Hacking was one of my specialties during boot camp.”

“Of course it was. Were you good at pickpocketing too?” Jordan asks, and Mat rolls his eyes.

“You’re funny,” he says in a stupid voice, and it makes Jordan laugh a little. He sees Mat smile at that, and his stomach does something funny, which he resolutely ignores. “Anyway, I’m gonna see if it’s been deleted? If so, we’re kinda fucked, but we can at least write that down as something, eh?” he continues, and Jordan blinks again.

“Are you Canadian?” Jordan asks, and Mat turns then, looks at him.

“Sure am,” he says. He looks at Jordan, considering. “You wondering why I was assigned to New York, or something?”

“Not saying you chose it, or anything,” Jordan says. “Just interesting. Tavares, too?”

“JT? Yeah. I mean, we all kinda fight for one thing, now, right? This agency takes from all over.” Mat types something in and gets blocked. “Fuck. Let me try something else.”

“I mean, definitely,” Jordan says. “Can I try something?”

“Be my guest,” Mat says, wheeling away. “All yours.”

Jordan sits down and narrows his eyes. Three keystrokes and--blocked. “Fuck,” he says. “It’s like…” He trails off, but Mat’s eyes light up.

“They’re encrypted,” Mat says, and Jordan nods. 

“Sure,” he agrees. He knows next to nothing about encryption, so he hopes Mat does. “How am I gonna get past that? 

“I can try,” Mat says, and Jordan makes room. Mat does something that Jordan can’t really catch, and then. “Boom, baby.”

“Please never say that again,” Jordan says, and Mat laughs. The sound makes Jordan’s stomach flip. He’s not trying to get friendly with Mat. “They’re there, at least.”

“Let’s see if we can get anything,” Mat says, clicking on one of them. They get lucky with the date; it’s from the afternoon of the break in, and Jordan starts to make note of body language with whatever he can make out. Mat tilts his head. 

“What’s up?” Jordan asks, still scanning for anything out of place.

“Are there more angles?” Mat asks. “This doesn’t seem like enough.”

“Try that one?” Jordan suggests. “It’s got the same time stamp, I think.”

Sure enough, there’s more angles, and they get a somewhat comprehensive view of events leading up to the break in. Mat’s got a piece of notebook paper in front of him, and he’s making tick marks every time he sees something, but Jordan can’t place it, so he pauses the video, causing Mat to look up.

“What are the tick marks for?” he asks. Mat furrows his brows. “Tallies, I don’t know. What are they for?”

“Every time I catch a person standing by themselves,” Mat says. “There’s never more than five people to a frame, and most time there’s three. If there’s two people talking, that leaves one person by themselves. It’s just a way for me to keep track of how many times a person is alone in the frame. Maybe nothing, but worth noting.” Mat presses play again, and something catches Jordan’s eye. He pauses it again. Mat sighs.

“See him?” Jordan points at a man off to the side, almost out of frame. “He’s been in at least 70 percent of the videos we’ve watched.”

Mat leans in, squinting. “You know, you’re right. I don’t know if I would’ve noticed though, he’s kind of inconspicuous.”

“Nah, but look,” Jordan says, rewinding a bit and then pressing play. “He’s never talking to anyone. No one speaks to him. They know he’s there, training wouldn’t let someone slip up like that. But no one seems to talk to him.”

“Wonder if we can get a positive I.D.,” Mat says, zooming in on his face. He takes a picture and sends it to himself so they can access it later. “You think he works here?”

“Not sure,” Jordan says, but he’s still intrigued. “Let’s go to some later footage.”

Jordan’s not sure how long they sit there combing through footage. They don’t seem to find anything important, and it’s wearing on them both. At some point, he feels his eyes start to get heavy, and staying upright becomes harder. He ends up putting his head down on the desk just to get any sort of reprieve, but Mat shakes him. 

“Come on, I downloaded them onto a flash drive. We can watch more tonight.” Mat pulls him up. “We’re good in this room. Also, it’s only been four hours.”

“Only four,” Jordan parrots, but he follows Mat out of the room and into a conference room. Jordan shakes his head, and Mat nods; they can’t talk here, and Mat seems to get that. Jordan faces the window and Mat faces the door as they both fuck around on their phones for a bit, playing dumb. Mat walks around and then presses a button. Jordan’s eyes widen, and Mat shrugs, his face saying “I don’t know, either.”

“Oui?” A tinny voice comes through a speaker, and Mat sighs.

“Puis-je parler avec SSA Anderson, s’il vous plaît?” Mat asks, and there’s a noise of recognition.

“Oui, un moment,” the voice says, and then the speaker disconnects.

“I did  _ not _ know what you were doing,” Jordan says, and Mat huffs out a quiet laugh. “For all I knew, you were pressing a button that was going to activate the alarm.”

“I was sure it was the microphone button,” Mat says, and Jordan just raises an eyebrow. “Like, 90 percent sure.” Jordan shakes his head, but they both turn at the sound of footsteps entering the room.

“Agents,” Anderson nods, and they nod back. “Find anything useful?” 

“We hope,” Jordan says, smiling, and Anderson smiles back. It’s bigger than his first smile.

“I can tell why you’d be a good spy,” Anderson says, and Jordan blinks. The smile suddenly appears menacing. “You’re unassuming. Seem real friendly. I bet you put a lot of people at ease.” Jordan sees Mat’s body shift toward a defensive stance.

“I certainly try my best, sir,” Jordan says, and Mat takes a step forward, putting himself between Anderson and Jordan. He sticks his hand out, and Anderson accepts. Jordan inhales sharply.

“We’ll be back tomorrow,” Mat says firmly, effectively ending their correspondence for the day. Jordan nods, shakes Anderson’s hand, and walks out behind Mat. They’ve walked about four blocks before Jordan pulls him into an alley.

“Really?” Jordan says. “You’re going to try and take the lead now?”

“I’m not,” Mat hisses. “He was threatening you, what was I supposed to do? Sit back and watch?”

“I’ve got more experience, Barzal,” Jordan says. “Stop trying to take that from me.”

“I’m  _ not _ ,” Mat says again, more forcefully. “Your reaction time is slower. You’re not noticing as much as you usually would. This is your first field placement back, and I’m letting you get into the swing of things. Stop taking  _ my _ experience from  _ me _ . I know what I’m doing, too.” Mat gestures toward the street. “Now let’s walk back. You don’t even have to talk to me.”

Jordan steps ahead and walks toward the direction of the place they’re staying. He considers Mat’s statement. He knows all of what Mat said is true. His reaction time is shit. Mat stepping in made the whole conversation seem less awkward. Jordan also let the weird comments slide, whereas Mat saw what it could have been. Jordan knows all of this is true, but he’d rather let himself believe that Mat’s just an inexperienced rookie agent for one more day, as selfish as that is. 

By the time they make it back to the hotel, all of Jordan’s anger has worn off, but he can tell Mat is still tense around him. He throws his phone on the bed closest to the bathroom as Mat sets up near the window without even asking. “I know you’re still upset,” he says, and Mat doesn’t even look up.

“About what, Eberle?” Jordan is shocked to hear his last name come out of Mat’s mouth. Mat is usually so friendly, and this makes them seem more formal, now. 

“With me,” Jordan says. Mat hasn’t even looked at him yet, and Jordan’s chest feels tight. “I can see it. I’m sorry, by the way. For all I’ve assumed over the past two days.”

“Thanks,” Mat says, though his jaw is clenched from where he’s holding his room access card between his teeth as he plugs his laptop in. After he manages, he sets the card on the table, and looks up. “I know it’s hard.”

“It would be easier for me to hate you if you weren’t so likable,” Jordan admits, sitting back on his bed. “No offense.”

“None taken, I think,” Mat says, and Jordan can see a hint of a smile, so he feels a little better. “How does not hating me sound?”

“Like the sensible solution,” Jordan says, smiling a little. It’s not happy, per se, but he feels a little lighter. Mat laughs, too, which feels like a win. “Anyway. Sorry again.”

“It’s okay,” Mat says this time, and Jordan nods. “Honestly. You’re coming off a rough go of it. I can be patient. I think you just need to be patient with yourself, too.” 

They’re silent for a while as Jordan tries to digest all that, and he sorts through emails. There’s a bunch welcoming him to the team, and one that Mat sent of him as an edited snapchat, which got a lot of laughs. He shakes his head, huffing a little laugh to himself. Mat sits up straighter, and Jordan turns his head. “What’s up?”

“Got an I.D. on this guy,” Mat says, tilting his screen so Jordan can see. Jordan leans in, and Mat nods toward his bed. “Here, Ebs, just.” He makes room so Jordan can sit. “Come look.”

Jordan sits next to him on the bed, and he blinks. “Laine? Isn’t he a new trainee? Also, Ebs?” 

“Yeah, that’s what I thought, too,” Mat says as he types in the name. “Also, easier than saying Eberle.”

“Alright, Barz,” Jordan shoots back, and Mat rolls his eyes. “Says here he’s still a new trainee. Means he graduated last year, yeah? Why would he be getting field placements in France?” Jordan shakes his head. “Something’s up.”

“You think maybe he saw something? And was too afraid to say?” Mat types something else in. “Like, I don’t know. Though he does seem out of place.”

“Hopefully he’s still here and we can talk to him tomorrow,” Jordan says. “Anything else?”

“Nothing we haven’t seen,” Mat says. “One witness, who we’re also talking to tomorrow, and the two men who stole the documents. Does it indicate whether we know what documents were stolen?”

“Classified,” Jordan says, and Mat squints. “I know. I don’t understand why it would be.” Mat sits back, thinking. “It doesn’t make sense.”

“Do you think they’re investigating in-house?” Mat asks, and his continued search on Laine turns up only a few things. “Okay, something’s definitely up.” Mat leans in a little closer to his screen, and Jordan tilts his head, looking at him. He’s pretty, obviously, Jordan can objectively see this, but. There’s something about him that keeps Jordan on his toes. It’s maddening.

“Do you need reading glasses?” Jordan asks, and Mat looks up, cheeks flushing. “Oh my god, you do. Dude. I was  _ joking _ .” 

“It’s...I forgot them at my desk,” Mat says, sheepish. Jordan feels a pang of something at how cute his embarrassment is. Or, a pang of sympathy for him forgetting his glasses. Definitely. “I only need them when my head hurts, though, otherwise I can live without them, it’s fine.”  

“Does your head hurt?” Jordan asks, and Mat shrugs. “Because I have pain meds.”

“It’s nothing going to sleep won’t fix, but I…” he trails off, having gotten a text on his phone. He rolls his eyes and types out a reply, then locks his phone. He blinks. “What was I saying?”

Jordan shakes his head. “You  _ should  _ sleep. I can keep looking through stuff, tell you what I find in the morning. Deal?” He ejects the flash drive from Mat’s computer, and Mat looks at him. “Barz, sleep.”

Mat nods. “Okay. Wake me up if anything urgent happens,” he says through a yawn, and then pads off to the bathroom. Jordan shouldn’t find it so endearing, really, but. 

Maybe it’s just that Mat is the first person not his mother who’s been patient and kind with him since...yeah. That must be it. That’s gotta be it. It’s not a crush.

  
  


(You think for a spy he’d be more convincing.)

  
  
  


Jordan takes a deep breath before entering the building, this time, and vows to work on his reaction time and ability to hold conversation the way he used to. He pulls Mat aside, and says, “I’m gonna follow your lead for a bit,” into Mat’s ear, and Mat just nods, but Jordan can see the hint of a smile on his face, and his stomach does something funny again. He doesn’t like it.

They’re taken to a smaller conference room, and Patrik Laine walks in first.

“Agent Laine,” Mat says as a greeting. Laine seems calm, Jordan notices. Good training. “I’m Special Agent Barzal, this is Special Agent Eberle, and we’d just like to ask you a few questions about last Monday.”

“I wasn’t there for the break-in, if that’s what you want to talk about,” Laine says, and the calm facade is dented, a little. New agent, Jordan thinks. 

“I don’t want to talk about that, though,” Mat says. “I just want to talk about that day. What did you do that morning?” Laine flinches, though it would be unnoticeable to to the untrained eye. Jordan blinks, pretending to see nothing.

“Came into the office, did some paperwork. I didn’t really leave my area all that much.” Laine picks at a spot on the desk, and Mat looks at Jordan, raises his eyebrows. He can tell what Mat’s thinking, because he’s thinking it, too.  _ That’s a bad lie _ .

“Where exactly is ‘your area’?” Jordan asks. “Is it the lobby? Because there certainly is a lot of video from Monday of you hanging around the lobby.”

“There’s footage?” Laine asks, and his eyes widen. Jordan resists the urge to roll his eyes.

“Look, Agent Laine, you don’t have to lie to us,” Mat says, and Jordan feels pride swell in his chest. “Just tell us what you were doing that Monday. Security doesn’t have audio of this, and we swept the room.” Laine nods, and if Jordan wasn’t good at his job, he’d smile, because that was a smooth lie Mat pulled off. It wouldn’t work on seasoned agents, but. Mat probably knew that.

“Look. I’d heard rumors something was going to happen, but I didn’t know when,” Laine says. “I didn’t know what, either. I got an email saying I should stay in view of an exit, so that’s what I did. No one noticed, they thought I was just the weird new agent. No one told me to leave.”

“Email from who?” Jordan asks. Mat is writing as if he’s taking notes, but when Jordan glances at it, it’s for him.  _ “still lying” _ the note reads. Jordan focuses on Laine again.

“Um.” Laine looks at the table, and Mat really does roll his eyes and groan, this time. Laine’s head snaps up.  _ Good move _ , Jordan thinks. He’s starting to see why Weight placed them together. “I know you think I’m lying. Why are we even here?”

“Because you don’t think it’s suspicious that you spent 85 percent of your day in the lobby just lurking?” Jordan asks. “We do. We just want to know what you saw, what you heard, and what you were doing. Because it’s suspicious.”

“Don’t play dumb,” Mat says. He points to himself, smiles smugly. It makes Jordan want to laugh. “We’re spies.”

They finally get Laine to tell them three things: he really did get an email, from an unknown, untraceable server, but it told him something was going to happen at night, and that he should not stay and work overtime like he usually does, he’d tried to investigate on his own, but it didn’t work because he’d eventually been booted back to his desk, and also that he was placed in France because it was closer to home. They thank him and send him out. Mat shrugs, and Jordan tilts his head.

“Shouldn’t talk about it here,” Mat says.

“They probably turned off the audio,” Jordan says. “Besides, he wasn’t telling the full truth.”

“I believe the email story, and that they placed him in France to be closer to home, but I sure as hell don’t believe the rest of it.” Mat’s voice is low and he’s not looking at Jordan. Jordan’s momentarily confused, but then he realizes. Mat doesn’t want them to be able to read his lips. 

Jordan turns away from the camera he’s directly facing. “I think he got an email to be part of something. I think he turned them down, then they threatened him, and that’s why he was in the lobby.” Jordan takes one of the photo’s they’d shown Laine and pushes it to Mat. “Look at his body language, he was surveying.”

“He was looking for a sign, and then when he saw it, he left,” Mat mumbles. “I don’t think he’s a double agent or anything. Just wrong place, wrong time.”

Mat straightens up and then Jordan hears it, too. The footsteps stop outside of the door, and their witness walks in, arm in a sling and black eye to boot. Mat’s eyes soften a little, involuntarily, Jordan thinks. He must know this guy.

“It’s good to see you, SA Lee,” he says, and Jordan nods. “By the way, this is SA Eberle, newest member of our New York office.” Jordan’s brain goes off in recognition.

“It’s nice to meet you,” Lee says, sticking his non-injured hand out. Jordan shakes it. “Call me Anders if you want.”

“We just have a few questions,” Mat says, and he looks to Jordan. “SA Eberle will conduct this interview.” Mat smiles at him, and Jordan recognizes this as two things: Mat’s trust in him, and Mat realizing that Jordan will naturally be more objective. He appreciates Mat for this and makes a mental note to himself to tell Mat this, later. 

Jordan starts off with low-ball, not priority questions, and Lee—Anders—seems to get more comfortable as time goes on, so Jordan finally asks, “Where were you at the time of the break in?” Anders goes a little stiff, and Jordan almost wants to take the question back; going through something traumatic takes some time to get used to. 

He takes a deep breath, though, and Jordan and Mat finally get the first hand account they were looking for, and then some information they didn’t have. Anders looks grateful, afterwards, because he gets to go home now.

“It’s been a while,” he says, and he looks wistful for New York. Jordan gets the feeling, and he smiles, but it doesn’t feel quite right on his face. By the time they let Anders go, Jordan’s feeling pretty icky about his situation. Anders was friendly, really nice, even, but Jordan misses Edmonton and everything that came with it so badly, right now, that it’s all he can focus on. 

Mat looks at him like he can sense something is up, but Jordan tries to steel himself so that he doesn’t have a literal breakdown right here in this conference room. “Ebs?” Mat asks, and it’s quiet, like he’s worried. Jordan’s stomach does a literal flip flop, and he blinks, turning to face Mat, just trying his best to hold it together. Mat’s eyes hold a lot of emotions, but the overwhelming one is concern. It makes Jordan want to cry. “Do you want to talk?”

“I miss Edmonton,” Jordan blurts, like he’d been holding it in. Mat nods. “So much. I don’t know if I could ever go back there, now. But I miss it.”

“What would prevent you from going back even if you asked?” Mat asks, and then his eyes widen as if he realizes what he’s said. “Oh.” 

Jordan shrugs. “Not sure if it’s even worth it, at this point.” He looks at his notes and takes a deep breath. “So. Laine,” he says, and Mat just nods, accepting the subject change easily. Jordan’s never been so thankful.

  
  
  


The investigation wraps up fairly easily in France after about a week more, even though they have nothing, and then they’re on their way home with Anders sitting near the front of the plane, Mat in the middle, and Jordan surveying everything in the back. The flight is long, though, and he gets antsy, so he starts reading through things again. Eventually, he texts Mat.

_ Come to the back _ , it says.  _ Need your eyes. _

Mat’s sitting in front of him less than a minute later. “Can’t sleep?” he asks, taking one pile of papers Jordan pulled out. Jordan shakes his head, and Mat sighs. “Me neither. Leeber’s passed out though.” Jordan chuckles a little at the nickname, and Mat smiles to himself. Jordan doesn’t know what to make of that.

They work in relative silence, the occasional throat clearing and paper ruffling the only thing that breaks it, and Jordan finds himself appreciative of his new partner. Just a week ago, he was lamenting being gone from Edmonton as well as absolutely  _ dreading  _ a new partner, and now he and Mat work together like they’ve been doing it their whole lives. And that feels weird to him.

He still misses Hallsy more than anything in the world, and he doesn’t know how he’s ever going to get over it. It’s hard, and he’s not coping as well as he should be, and he misses Hallsy’s dumb comments and his dumb face and his everything. He misses everything.

He pushes a file away from him and sits back to watch. Mat has two highlighters and is sorting through files and underlining...whatever, and his tongue is poking out from his mouth and Jordan is suddenly struck with an intense desire to kiss Mat. He blinks, shaking the thought from his brain, which makes Mat look up.   
“You okay?” he asks, and Jordan shrugs. “Wanna take a break?”

“A break would be nice,” Jordan says, and Mat nods.

“Cool,” he says, smiling a little. “Let’s try and nap.”

Mat throws his feet up next to Jordan and leans back, closing his eyes. Jordan watches the way his hair falls in his eyes, the way his crossed arms somehow look  _ comfortable  _ even though they should be falling asleep if he sat like that too long, and Jordan wonders if he’s ever experienced anything awful in his life. He hopes he hasn’t. As Jordan finally falls asleep, he wonders, not for the first time, if he chose the wrong profession.

 

* * *

  
  


The celebrations after bringing Anders home allows Jordan to slip out of the office unnoticed. His thumb hovers over the call button, but he just locks his phone, instead. He stares out the window, the busy streets and bright lights of the city so seemingly foreign to him. He’s used to a slower pace. Not this.

“Hey,” Mat says, breaking Jordan out of his reverie. “What’s up?” 

Jordan rolls his eyes. “You ever leave your partners alone, man?” He’s aiming for joking, but it falls flat. Mat snorts anyway.

“Nope,” he says, popping the ‘p’ loudly. “I make your business my business. People were wondering where you went. Sent me to find you.”

“Oh,” Jordan says, and they fall silent. Jordan’s never been one to have been noticeable. He kind of just looks like someone’s dad, or someone’s brother. He’s never been the center of attention. “Didn’t know people cared.”

“ _ Dude _ ,” Mat says, and he sounds broken-hearted. Jordan kind of wants to cry again, but he’s a seasoned agent, okay? He can handle it. “Of course we care. God, we’re your team. What did you think we were gonna do?”

“I...don’t know, actually,” Jordan says. “I never really pictured myself sticking here.” Mat’s face falls even more at that, if possible, and Jordan wants to wipe that expression off his face as quickly as he can. “But I’m glad I did. I know it’s only been a few weeks…” he trails off, but Mat’s little smirk is back. It fills Jordan with an immense amount of joy.

“It’s been a few weeks, but we’re dynamic, man,” Mat says, sticking his hand out for a fist bump, which makes Jordan laugh out loud. Mat’s smirk turns into a giant smile, and he looks so fucking happy to have made Jordan laugh that Jordan almost feels like crying again. He doesn’t, though, and instead fist bumps Mat back, and lets Mat lead him back to the office, where everyone yells a little in happiness upon his return, and he feels at home for a moment.

It’s good, for once.

  
  


Which means that, of course, something has to go wrong. 

  
  


Jordan and Mat have spent hours pouring over theories and files with countless pots of shitty office coffee that have yielded approximately zero results. Jordan feels no closer to solving this break-in, or this “agency conspiracy,” and this lack of results is well and truly getting to him. His brain is fried, and he’s not thinking straight, and he’s out at a Starbucks with Mat just trying to wake himself up when a man in a dark blue hoodie pulls out a gun and points directly at a little girl and her mom. 

Jordan feels like he’s watching himself in a slow motion, but Mat pulls his own gun out, gets up first and says, “Federal police, drop your weapon,” in the most authoritative voice Jordan’s ever heard out of him. The man in the hoodie laughs, but doesn’t change his target. Jordan finally gathers the spoons to pull his own gun out and position himself so that he can get a good shot off if need be. 

“Is this legal?” the man in the blue hoodie says before firing a round at Mat and Jordan, but Jordan gets the guy right in knee, forcing him to drop his gun. Mat grabs it and pushes it toward Jordan, and the man laughs again. 

“Arrest him,” Mat says, and Jordan goes, not thinking anything of it until local police get there, and then he finally thinks to look back at Mat, who’s been quiet this whole time.

“Are...did he…” Jordan says, panic rising in his chest. It’s too familiar.

“It’s fine,” Mat says, brushing it off, furrowing his brows a little. “It’s just a little knick in the elbow. He had bad aim.” Medical’s wrapping Mat’s elbow, and they’re assuring Jordan that it’s fine, Mat can still work, but Jordan can’t...he’s still thinking about–  

“Mat,” he says, almost pleading, and Mat finally looks up at him. He’s a little paler than usual, but it’s not as worrisome as Jordan was thinking. 

“Hey,” Mat says, reaching up to him and cupping his face. Jordan’s brain stops. “I’m absolutely okay. Promise.” He slaps Jordan’s cheek lightly and goes to say something to Weight, and Jordan feels like he’s dying, maybe. By the time Mat reaches him again, he’s worked himself both up to and down from a panic attack, and his breathing is labored. Mat blinks at him. “Ebs, hey.”

“Hi,” Jordan says, but it comes out to thin and whispery. He clears his throat, tries again. “Hey. I think that little girl and her mom weren’t our guy’s target.”

“I agree,” Mat says, a bit cautious, but he lets the subject be changed. Somehow, Jordan has a feeling he won’t let this go. “He seemed to know we’d be there.”

“Was he following us?” Jordan asks, suddenly feeling exposed. Mat shrugs. “We need security footage, now.”

Jordan and Mat comb through the security footage meticulously, only stopping when Mat needs more pain medicine, and Jordan forces him to take it. “You always this protective of your partners?” Mat asks, and Jordan does not blush at all. Honest.

As the time goes on, Mat’s eyes start to droop, and he starts wincing more, and Jordan slides his laptop away. “Alright, bedtime,” he says, and Mat makes a noise of protest. Jordan starts to pack up both his and Mat’s stuff, and Mat shakes his head.

“No,” he mumbles, and his head drops to Jordan’s shoulder. Jordan is not blushing, he swears on his life. Mat doesn’t move, though, and Jordan doesn’t want to get stuck, so he hoists him up. 

“Nope, come on,” he says, arm firmly around Mat’s waist. “I’ll drive you home.” 

He gets Mat in the car and Mat is already slumped against the window by the time Jordan gets into his side. He sighs. Mat was so fucking lucky it wasn’t serious, so lucky it didn’t take him out for real. He looks at Mat, slumped against the window of his car, and— 

In a different life, Mat is tired and just needs a ride home from a party at a mutual friend’s house, and he’s had maybe one too many drinks, and Jordan offers to drive him home, and he tucks Mat into bed and leaves Advil and water by his bedside when he wakes up, and Mat calls him and asks him out and he says yes and he’s never met Hallsy and therefore he’s not fucking haunted by his past mistakes and–

“You gonna drive?” Mat mumbles, and there’s a hint of a smile on his face, so Jordan bucks up and puts the car in reverse. “Cool. Was hoping you were–” he pauses for a yawn “–just waiting a moment and not freaking out.”

“I’m not freaking out,” Jordan says calmly. He sure doesn’t feel as calm as he sounds.

“Sure you aren’t, Ebs,” Mat says, eyes still closed. “And I’m the best spy you’ve ever worked with.”

“You’re definitely up there,” Jordan says, and he looks over to see Mat smiling so wide his cheeks must hurt. But it’s genuine happiness on his face, even as he’s slumped against the window, and Jordan...is feeling a great many things. Mostly relief that Mat isn’t dead, which is definitely,  _ absolutely _ the feeling in his chest right now.

Mat’s slightly more awake by the time they get back to his apartment, and Jordan does so many things to keep his hands busy before Mat realizes what he’s doing. “Are you hovering?” Mat asks. Jordan just narrows his eyes. “Oh my god. This is incredible. You must actually like me, man. It’s taken so long.”

And isn’t that the fucking truth, but what comes out of Jordan’s mouth instead is, “You got shot.”

Mat raises an eyebrow, almost amused. “I’m aware, yes.”

“So someone should be here, you know, unless you…” Jordan trails off with a vague hand wave, and Mat’s brows furrow.

“Unless what?” he asks, and Jordan does the hand motion again, and Mat shakes his head, shrugging. Jordan just moves his head to try and get Mat to understand, but Mat’s eyes are so wide at this point he kind of looks like a bug. “Dude, usually we’re on the same page but I got nothing.”

“Like, you have a...girlfriend?” Jordan offers up, and Mat snorts. “Boyfriend? I don’t know, man.”

“I’ve got neither, but thanks for asking,” Mat says, and his face looks like he’s trying to stop himself from smiling. Jordan sighs. “It’s fine. It’s probably best if you stay, anyway.” He starts to move toward his room, but stops. “Oh, there’s a guest room, though the bed isn’t made from the last time my mom was here.”

“That’s okay, I can take the couch,” Jordan says almost immediately, but Mat shakes his head.

“No, dude, I can find the sheets and–”

“You should just rest.” Jordan cuts him off, and Mat sighs. “Come on, there’s even a throw blanket. I’ll be–”

“Just share the damn bed with me, then,” Mat says, entirely demanding, and Jordan blinks. Mat deflates only slightly. “Don’t fuck up your back just because the bed isn’t made and I don’t know where the sheets are and you won’t let me find them and make it. Let’s go.” He turns quickly and Jordan is not going to handle this well, but he goes anyway. Mat is sitting on his bed looking only a little upset. 

“Does your elbow hurt?” Jordan asks, and Mat shrugs.

“A little,” Mat says, and he looks up. “Sorry I snapped.”

“It’s okay,” Jordan says. He sits next to Mat. “Sorry I’m hovering.”

“Nah, it’s sweet,” Mat says. “I appreciate it.” Mat gets up and throws Jordan a shirt. “Here, it’s clean, I promise. Unless you’re gonna sleep in your suit, in which case, more power to you.” Mat starts to take his pants off, and Jordan definitely gets the memo, turning around and changing so that he’s wearing this...large red t-shirt with a restaurant name on the front that’s more like a dress, and Mat huffs out a laugh, so he knows he looks ridiculous. He turns around slowly, and Mat’s got his lips pressed together in an even line, and Jordan shakes his head.

“Ridiculous,” he says, and Mat doesn’t laugh, just keeps his expression neutral. “Are you serious?”

“You look great,” Mat says, nodding, but Jordan catches the expression, and it’s fond, and sweet, and Mat’s just fucking around with him like friends do, and it makes Jordan’s heart do something funny. 

“Thank you,” he says, and Mat smiles, then, a real one, and gets into bed. “Do you need more pain meds?”

“Eh,” Mat says, curling up, patting the space next to him. “Come on, bud. You’re definitely bedtime ready.”

“God, you’re ridiculous,” Jordan says, and Mat throws him a shit-eating grin. “Unbelievable. I’m gonna ask to switch partners.”

“You wouldn’t,” Mat says. He puts on a voice. “You’ve grown too fond of me.”

“Who talks like that anymore?” Jordan wonders, and Mat laughs, and then winces a little because everything tends to hurt even when you just get grazed by a bullet, but he shakes his head. 

“I’m okay,” he says, and Jordan frowns. Mat frowns right back, and Jordan is struck by how easy this is, interacting with him. “Promise.”

“Okay,” Jordan says. He locks his phone and lays down, trying to fall asleep. By the time Mat does, it’s 1 in the morning, and Jordan has been staring at Mat’s ceiling fan for two hours, and his head hurts. He closes his eyes and–

_ “Jordan?!” he hears, and there’s Hallsy, and he’s bleeding from his head but he’s okay. “Jordan, thank god, I thought–” _

_ “It’s fine,” Jordan says, cupping his face. “You’re bleeding.” _

_ “It’s nothing, I’m–” _

_ Boom. _

Jordan opens his eyes and sits up, breathing heavily. It wasn’t even a dream this time, and he scrubs at his face before staring at Mat’s dresser for a while, counting the number of knobs on the drawers four different times to calm his breathing. Mat shifts then, and rolls over. 

“Ebs?” he says, and he sounds sleepy, but there’s an undercurrent of concern. “You okay?”

“It’s fine,” Jordan says. “It’s nothing, just go back to sleep.”

“Okay,” Mat says easily. He pats Jordan’s hand. The whole thing is so domestic Jordan’s heart hurts. “You too.” He rolls over and falls back asleep as quickly as he’d woken up, and Jordan sighs. 

He should’ve fucking known Mat wasn’t going to be easy. 

 

(It’s weird now because they’ve shared a bed. Jordan knew he found Mat attractive but what he didn’t know was that it was going to be made exponentially worse by sharing a bed with him. Everything feels weird. Strange. Time seems to pass too quickly or not at all. The last time Jordan felt this way was with—

Yeah. He’s not doing well.)

 

* * *

 

“It feels like nothing’s working,” Mat says, throwing half a croissant at his screen and standing up. “Nothing. Not even Tito can get anything going.”

“I’m not Superman,” Tito, their computer guy, says, pushing up his glasses as his fingers fly across the keyboard.

“Please don’t waste a perfectly good croissant,” Jordan says, and Tito laughs loudly at that. Mat stands up to ruffle Tito’s hair.

“You sure do look like Clark Kent, though,” he says, and Tito rolls his eyes. Mat points at Jordan. “Also, that croissant was rock hard. Don’t tell me what to do.”

“You do know I actually can tell you what to do,” Jordan says, scanning the page for something, anything. “Like. That’s my job.”

“Fuck you,” Mat says good-naturedly, and Jordan smiles. Mat walks toward his desk and leans in, and he’s close enough that Jordan can smell his body wash and probably his aftershave, and if he’s being honest he’d rather die than be here because if he’s here too long he could pop a boner if he’s not careful, which would be less than ideal. But he’s a professional, and Mat’s his friend now, sure, but also just his partner, of only two months now, so he’s gotta hold it together. “Question.”

“Answer.” Something snags Jordan’s attention, and he highlights it. “Aha.”

“I know we dismissed Laine outright because he was a new agent,” Mat says, “but something didn’t strike me as quite right about him.” He pauses, and points something out in Jordan’s expense report. “This is from when you bought me Taco Bell with the team card. You’ve looked at it four times and been confused.”

“When did I buy you Taco Bell with the team card?” Jordan asks, but he begins to root through his desk for the receipt. Tito narrows his eyes at the both of them.

“To be fair, you also bought  _ yourself _ Taco Bell, and we were on a stakeout.” Mat opens a different drawer and pulls out a slip of paper. “Here it is.” He reads through it and snorts. “You got four crispy chicken quesadillas for  _ just _ you. It was amazing how quickly you ate them.”

“Shit, I remember now,” he says, and Mat laughs. “Why did we get Taco Bell?”

“Because our only other option was a Bob Evans that only had country fried steak because it was so late, and you told me if you “put another country fried steak in your body you’d vomit all over our suspect.”” Jordan purses his lips and Mat snorts. “It was really funny at the time.”

“It’s still funny, to be honest,” Jordan says. “Mostly because my feelings on country fried steak haven’t changed.” He staples the Taco Bell receipt to his expense report and sighs. “What’s your question about Laine?”

“Odds we ask Weight to get him here,” Mat says. Something must give it away in Jordan’s face, because Mat goes right for pleading. “Come  _ on _ , Ebs, you  _ know _ something is wrong there!” He sits on Jordan’s desk, and Jordan and Tito make eye contact as Tito shoulders shake with laughter. Mat whirls around. “Stop laughing at me, Tito.”

“You’re in rare form, today,” Tito says, waggling his eyebrows. “How could I not?”

Mat sighs, but Jordan catches a hint of a smile on his face. “Anyway, before I was so rudely interrupted,” Mat continues, which makes Jordan laugh, “we gotta talk to him again.”

“Okay, alright,” Jordan acquiesces, motioning at Tito and grabbing Mat’s wrist. “Let’s talk.”

They reconvene in a meeting room, and Mat sits down, mollified. “Let’s go over what we’ve got,” Tito says, pulling his laptop screen up on the big TV. “Ebs, you start.”

“France provided us with nothing but two suspects,” Ebs says. “Anderson and Laine.” 

“Why is Anderson a suspect?” Tito asks.

“He threatened Ebs,” Mat says easily, to which Jordan shakes his head.

“Sure, there’s that, but he also let all of his security footage be taken and encrypted after installing the new bureau mandated security system,” Jordan says. Mat sighs, and opens his laptop. “And that’s not protocol, therefore, he’s–”

“A person of interest, got it,” Tito says. “What’s the case?”

“Well, initially we thought it was just a break-in, someone trying to steal documents from our field office in Paris,” Mat starts. He opens the case file. “The documents were classified. We got back and we were told that it was okay, the investigation could be halted.” Mat huffs. “Halted! It’s becoming clear that something  _ else _ is wrong, here.” Mat hops up on the table, and opens his own file. “The break in was an inside job. It had to have been. Why can’t we get anything done anymore?  _ Inside job _ .”

“There’s not a conspiracy, Matty,” Tito says, but Jordan barely hears him. He’s looking at what’s projected on the screen. Mat’s two years of research on investigations that were stopped before a conclusion sits in front of him, and he feels a shiver up his spine.

“Where’d you get this?” Jordan asked, in a hushed tone. He feels like he’s seeing the light for the first time.

Mat shrugs, not even looking up from the computer screen. “This is just what I could find, on incomplete investigations.”

“Those are mine,” Jordan says, pointing at the string of ten investigations between 2014 and 2015. “All of them, me and–” he cuts himself off. Mat’s eyes widen.

“You and Hall did those?” Mat asks. Jordan nods. “But you guys had an amazing track record.”

“Yeah, our boss said he was just transferring them,” Jordan says. He feels...weird. Like something’s been kept from him. “They all say incomplete, but I know they were closed.”

“Just because they’re closed doesn’t mean they’re done,” Tito says, typing something, and the screen changes. “Look.”

They’re all hovering around Tito’s laptop screen, and Jordan looks at his cases that had supposedly been taken by higher ups and instead were just. Closed. For no reason. He could tell you each case and all the details of it before it was taken and how they’d been blocked by red tape every turn they took, and–

“It’s an inside job isn’t it?” Jordan asks. Tito swallows audibly.

“You might be onto something there,” Mat says. Tito looks pale, but determined. They’ve got work to do.

 

* * *

  
  


The thing about working on a case that you’re technically not supposed to be working on is that you get other cases in between. Like this one. A 26 year-old woman goes missing, and because it crosses state lines, and she’s the fifth one in a month, the precinct in Newark calls them in. Just him and Mat, no one else. It puts a damper on their other case. 

They spend all day knee-deep in interviews, talking with police, and looking over crime scenes and photos. By the time they get to their hotel for the night, Jordan is wiped.

“God, it’s been so long since I’ve done one of these,” he says, yawning and Mat snorts. “No, seriously, this is all I did in Edmonton at first.”

“Now, I know that’s not true,” Mat says, taking off his shoes. “You closed some major ones. Like threats to the Prime Minister, terrorist attacks, you name it.”

“I mean, sure,” Jordan says, shrugging. “But these were much more my speed.” Mat shakes his head, smiling to himself. Jordan smiles a little, too. “What?”

“Did you ever want to do more?” he asks, and Jordan shrugs. “Just, when it came to the big stage, you always delivered. It’s just interesting that you’d take these.”

“They’re like a reprieve,” Jordan says. “The big stuff, you know, actual espionage and going undercover is super fun, but it gets exhausting.” Jordan unbuttons his shirt. “Which, by the way, we have to be undercover tomorrow at that dumb gala to make sure that next person doesn’t get taken, right?”

“Oh fuck,” Mat groans, laying back on his bed. “Yeah, you’re right.” Mat sits up slowly, and he’s got his brow furrowed. “You know how they wanted a profile?”

“Yeah, those have never been my specialty. Hallsy was really good at them.” Jordan throws his dress shirt on his suitcase and almost freezes. He’d never mentioned Hallsy so casually to Mat. He tries to calm himself down and be cool. “Uh, why, did you think of something to add?”

“I feel like motive is important, here,” Mat says. “We just don’t have one.”

“Well, we don’t have a motive for an inside job, either,” Jordan points out, and Mat groans. “I know, I know. It sucks.”

“Alright, most common motives. Go.” Mat’s unbuckling his belt, and Jordan is momentarily distracted by Mat’s hands, but Mat looks up at him and makes a face.

“Okay, uh,” Jordan pulls on his nightshirt. “Money, revenge, love?” He looks at Mat, and he’s struggling to pull on sweatpants. Jordan huffs out a laugh, and Mat flips him off.

“Yeah, those are definitely major ones,” he says, hopping into the pants. “I feel like we can rule out money.”

“Yeah, if he’s rich enough to attend this gala then…” Jordan trails off, sitting on the bed. “Money’s not the issue.” Mat goes and lays next to him on his stomach, scrolling through his phone. His shirt is riding up a little, and Jordan can see a patch of skin and suddenly he can’t hear or think about anything that’s not  _ Mat, Mat, Mat.  _ It’s like everything is slow motion, and Mat is his love interest in the rom-com, and he could just lean in and--

“Love, maybe?” Mat offers, and Jordan blinks, swallows hard.

“What?”

Mat rolls over and raises an eyebrow at Jordan. “Love could be the motive?” Mat spells it out this time, and Jordan nods vigorously.

“That could make sense, yeah, definitely, that makes sense,” Jordan says, and Mat smiles a little, still scrolling. Jordan is, at this point, barely able to handle the fact that Mat is on his bed, but he resolves to keep it cool, keep it together. “Why do you think?”

“Whoever he is, he seems to have a type,” Mat says, and he leans his head back, staring at the ceiling. “The women all seem to have certain traits that line up. There’s a pattern, you know?”

“Yeah, for sure,” Jordan says. He couldn’t tell you what Mat just said because Mat’s hair is splayed on the comforter and he looks fucking amazing.

“I can’t believe this turns you on,” Mat says, and Jordan’s eyes widen and he blinks rapidly, now finally tuned in to what Mat’s saying. Mat laughs and bites his lip and Jordan inhales sharply. “You haven’t been listening to me at all. I can tell.”

“No, no, that’s not…” Jordan’s response dies on his lips as Mat sits up and leans in close to him.

“Just kiss me already,” he whispers, and, really, who is Jordan to say no to that?

The kiss is messy and intense and Jordan can’t fucking figure out what to do with his hands, but Mat grabs them and places them on Mat’s hips. Mat does something  _ obscene  _ with his tongue, and Jordan groans, digging his nails into Mat’s side. Mat gasps and pulls back.

“That okay?” Jordan kisses Mat’s neck, and Mat exhales shakily.

“Definitely okay,” he replies, and Jordan keeps kissing Mat’s neck, and Mat gasps again. “Yeah, fuck, keep doing that.” Jordan leans him back and Mat swallows audibly, making Jordan laugh a little. He’s sucking a second bruise onto Mat’s collarbone, and Mat lets out a soft ‘oh’, and Jordan thinks he’s going to go fucking crazy.

It is, by Jordan’s terms, the best sex he’s ever had.

.

.

It’s not until much later, when Mat is snoring softly next to him that he thinks maybe he made a mistake. He promises to himself it’s not going to be weird, it won’t. And when Mat wakes up and kisses him good morning, well, Jordan’s not going to complain.

  
  


The thing is, though, that they don’t really get a chance to talk about it in the morning, which makes Jordan upset, so he kind of avoids Mat as best as he can all day.

Like, nothing is wrong, exactly. Mat’s normal, still fucking around with him, still doing his job just as well, still talking to everyone like the charmer he is, and Jordan doesn’t really know what to make of it all. 

Jordan doesn’t think it should be weird; they’re professionals, after all, but he...kind of hoped that they’d talk about it before tonight. Where Mat is in a tux. And he looks nothing short of amazing. Jordan’s kind of fucked right now.

But he’s a professional, as he’s said. So it’s fine. Totally, completely fine.

“Hey,” Mat says, smiling slightly and Jordan’s heart tries to jump out of his chest. So much for being fine.

“Hi,” Jordan says. He gestures to Mat’s glass. “Where’d you get that?”

“The open bar over there,” Mat says. “Brought you one, too. They’re rum and cokes. Without the rum.” He winks. “Professional, you know?”

“Ah,” Jordan says, accepting the glass gratefully. “Cheers, then.” The glasses clink, and Jordan spots one of the women across the room. He hums and leans back against the wall. 

“So,” he says, nodding over at the woman. Mat leans back next to him. “How’s your elbow?”

Mat chuckles. “It’s fine, for the thousandth time.” Jordan opens his mouth to protest, but Mat shakes his head. “I know. You’re just being protective. It’s sweet.” He leans more into Jordan’s space, and he can smell Mat’s cologne, and suddenly all Jordan can think about is last night, the way Mat looked as Jordan wrecked him completely, and he takes a long sip of his drink, wishing there was rum in it. 

“I’m glad you think it is,” Jordan says, wincing a little at just how  _ dumb  _ he sounds, and Mat laughs. “Come on. Take pity on me.”

“Oh, I am, trust me,” Mat says. He interlocks their fingers, swinging their arms a bit, and it’s like an electric current runs up through Jordan’s arm. “You’ve been weird all day.”

“I have not,” Jordan says, and Mat just raises an eyebrow. Jordan sighs. “I wasn’t trying to be.”

“Was it...not okay?” Mat asks, sounding small. For a moment, he actually seems his age, 23 and a little insecure about his relationship status with the guy he likes. Jordan can almost picture them in another universe, a different world where Jordan doesn’t have all this baggage and isn’t a mess and can relieve Mat of his fears about this without giving himself an anxiety attack. Jordan looks at him and doesn’t see Special Agent Mathew Barzal, but just Mat. He blinks rapidly, taking another sip of his coke.

“It was better than okay,” Jordan says finally. Mat sighs, visibly relieved, and Jordan hates that he put that feeling there. “I just don’t know what you want.”

“We can figure that out as we go, yeah?” Mat asks. He sets his glass down on the ledge beside Jordan, and then kisses him quickly. Jordan can feel his face flushing. “But I like kissing you.”

“Same,” he says, super lame, and Mat smiles, and then Jordan catches sight of the woman walking across the ballroom, being followed by a guy that almost entirely fits their profile. “I think we’ve got something.” Mat pulls back and sighs, but he lets Jordan out, and Jordan motions to the stairs. Mat starts walking that way, and Jordan stays next to the guy. 

He’s tall, blond, charming-looking, and extremely sullen, Jordan notices. Mat’s voice comes through his ear. “I’ve got sight on all three of you,” he says. “Megan seems oblivious.” Jordan touches his ear to indicate that he’s heard this, and he quickens his pace, catching up with her.

“Hi,” he says, and she turns around. “I was just–”

“Babe, what’s going on?” he hears, and the tall, blond, sullen man is suddenly looking not so sullen, and more so concerned. “Who is this?”

“Sorry, wrong person,” Jordan says, easily, and he retreats. “So.”

“Yeah, that sucks,” Mat says. Jordan can almost see the gears turning in Mat’s head. “If she’s the girlfriend then she’s end game, right? This gala is all part of his plan.” Jordan hears him walking back down the stairs. “I’m coming to you.”

“Okay,” Jordan says, and he keeps his eye on Megan, watching her movements, her interactions with the people around her. By the time Mat reaches him, he’s got a conclusion. “She’s cheating on him.”

“Oh,” Mat says, whipping around, looking at them. “How can you tell?”

“See the way she’s leaning into that bartender?” Jordan says. “So she’s definitely dating tall-blond-and-sullen.” Mat snorts. “But she’s bored with him, see? She doesn’t care enough. I think we’ve got motive. He knows she’s cheating.”

“And we’ve got movement,” Mat says as he spots the knife, and puts his hand on his gun. “I–” Mat freezes, which Jordan thinks is uncharacteristic. He nudges Mat.

“Go over there, talk to him,” Jordan orders, and Mat does, stopping him as if they’re old friends. Jordan breathes easier, but Mat is almost flung aside. He stops him, but it’s clear it’s a struggle, and Mat’s gun is knocked away. The murmurs in the crowd get louder, and there’s gasps, and Jordan can  _ feel _ them all panicking.

“Federal police, drop the weapon,” he says, pulling out his gun. Mat looks up, unreadable expression on his face. Tall-blond-and-sullen turns and throws the knife at Megan, who catches it easily, stunning herself. Jordan almost laughs.

“What the fuck,” the dude says to himself, and Mat pins the man against the bar. “Let me go!”

“Nope,” Mat says. Jordan heads their direction as Mat handcuffs him and leads him to the police as Jordan checks on Megan.

“Hey,” he says again, and this time she looks grateful. “You okay?”

“I didn’t know he was trying to kill me,” she says, looking down at the knife, then up at him. “Thank you.”

“Of course,” he says, and Mat motions to him and then she’s surrounded by police, so Jordan goes. Mat pulls him outside, and they sit on the steps outside of the banquet hall, the noise of Newark in front of them. They’re quiet for a moment.

Mat leans his head on Jordan’s shoulder. “So,” he says.

“So,” Jordan parrots. Mat smiles, takes Jordan’s hand. “Kissing?”

“Yeah. And hand-holding,” Mat says, rubbing his thumb over the back of Jordan’s hand. “And sex. I like all of those.”

“Me too,” Jordan says.

They don’t talk about it further. Jordan thinks that might be okay.

  
  


“Consider this,” Mat says, hopping onto Jordan’s desk, resting his feet in Jordan’s lap. Jordan raises an eyebrow, barely pausing to look up. “We tell Dougie.”

“Nope,” Jordan says. “Not happening.” He finishes typing out the report on a case they closed recently, and sends it to Mat. “Do some work and look over what I sent you on the report.”

“I trust you, but I will in a second,” Mat says with a vague hand-wave gesture. “Someone besides Tito has to know. Not that I don’t love him, but.”

“Okay, time to use my experience. Sorry,” Jordan says, but he barrels ahead, not waiting for Mat’s response. “ _ We can’t tell anyone _ .” Mat rolls his eyes, but Jordan shakes his head. “Seriously. You don’t know who’s in on it and who’s not. There’s information we have that they’re not privy to, and if we don’t know for certain we can trust them, we can’t tell them. So Dougie? Off the table completely.”

“What about JT?” Mat asks, and that gives Jordan pause. John is certainly trustworthy, and is as frustrated with the amount of case turnover as the rest of them. He seems like he’s clueless to the whole “inside job” theory Mat has posited, but then again, John is a seasoned agent. He says as much, and Mat hops off the desk, sitting his chair. 

“JT,” Mat says, looking up, eyes wide. John rounds the corner, and Jordan sighs, shaking his head. “We have something that you might find interesting.”

 

Once they get John alone, Jordan starts in. “How much do you know about do you know about the Paris break-in?” 

“Not much,” John admits. “Only what was written in your report.”

“Well, we have a theory not written in the report,” Mat says, and Jordan sighs. John tilts his head. “You know all the public details. Break-in, one witness shot, no trace, and no positive ID.” Mat slides security footage across the table to John. “But take a look at these stills.”

John rifles through them, and Jordan gets a sinking feeling in his stomach. Once this little secret leaves the three of them, him, Mat, and Tito, he feels like it’s going to be blown wide open for the whole world to know. John looks, and looks closer, and Jordan can feel the anxiety bubbling up in chest, threatening to spill out of him. He keeps it in and looks at Mat instead, who’s intently watching John’s face. John sits back, finally.

“Well,” he says. Mat and Jordan lean forward, eyes intently focused on John’s face. “That’s certainly…”

“What do you think is going on, here?” Jordan asks. “Don’t think about what we said. Just focus on the facts.” 

“The facts are that there was a break-in with no fingerprints, red tape blocking us  from completing cases that seem inconsequential but when put together form an alarming pattern of cases that aren’t closed, and a supervisory agent threatened you,” John says. “That’s not a good look.”

“No one knows, though,” Mat says. “No one knows that the cases aren’t closed except us right now.” John raises an eyebrow and Mat sighs. “Tito may have hacked the server.”

“He what,” John deadpans, and Jordan rolls his eyes.

“The point, John, is that we’re not...we’re not coming into this unfounded. There’s a problem, and I think we haven’t even scratched the surface,” he says. His eyes bore into John’s, and there’s a long pause. Finally, Jordan sits back. 

“So?” Mat asks. John sighs.

“Where do we start?”

 

* * *

 

 

Despite the constant threat of being exposed looming over their heads, Jordan, Mat, John, and Tito work hard to try and uncover more about what the actual threat at their Paris field office was. They work on their off hours, usually separately, looking through old closed case files over and over until they find a snag, rinse, repeat.

Jordan walks into the office one morning, and John isn’t in his chair.

“He off?” he says to Mat, and Mat shakes his head, looking unusually solemn. Jordan tilts his head to the side and Mat shakes his head again.

“Not here,” he whispers, and Jordan nods.

John never shows up.

 

By the time they’re out to lunch, Jordan had all but forgotten about the empty seat at the front of their office. “He got transferred to Toronto,” Mat says under his breath. 

“What?”

“Said he was doing such good work here but it was being wasted in an office that never closed cases.” Mat bites into his pickle spear, and scrunches up his nose. 

“They transferred him?” Jordan says again. “You’re kidding me.”

“I think they’re onto us,” Mat says. He sounds detached, cold. His face betrays no emotion as he blankly stares at a spot behind Jordan’s head. “We should probably stop looking.” Jordan’s eyes narrow and Mat just shrugs. Jordan grabs Mat’s empty chip bag and stands, heading to the garbage. He realizes on his way back to Mat that Weight is sitting in the back of the restaurant. He grabs Mat’s elbow. Mat looks up.

“You’re right,” Jordan says, and Mat nods, pulling himself up. “We should get back to work.” 

 

They walk back in relative silence, Mat looking in windows and turning around as they pass. “Stop checking your tail,” Jordan says. “No one’s there.”

“You never know,” Mat says. He turns again.

“I’m checking too,” Jordan says, stopping them. “You’re fine.”

Mat pulls a wire out from his sleeve and steps on the mic. “That was a good performance back there,” Mat says. “I thought you weren’t going to believe me.”

“What’s going on?” Jordan pulls them to the side. “Do you think they’re in on it? Why were you mic’d?”

“Maybe?” Mat says. “I don’t know. I walked in this morning and John was packing up his stuff. Said they’d transferred him out and that he’d keep us in the loop if he found anything. Tito texted me and told me to meet him in the training room, so I did, and Tito said he’d been given a week’s vacation. It’s just us right now. They had to know something was up and they got rid of our two best shots. And they wanted to do surveillance on our team’s work. Suspicious, right?” Mat leans against the cool brick, breeze blowing through his hair. 

“Okay,” Jordan says, shaking his head. “Okay. Nope, we’re not going to get discouraged like this. Let’s go over what we’ve got.”

“You start.”

“Break-in at the Paris field office. Anders was doing work there. On what?”

“Kidnapping case,” Mat says. “The UN ambassador’s daughter had gone missing and turned up physically unharmed three days later with a threat of a terrorist attack.”

“Nothing came of the attack,” Jordan finishes. “No case files found on that at all though, right?”

“No, and no leads on who did the breaking in. Anders never got a good look at either of their faces.”

“And Laine?” Jordan prompts.

“Suspicious. He’s the only one besides Anders who had contact with the criminals, and he never saw their faces,” Mat says. “I don’t know what good this is doing us.” He tugs on the ends of his hair again, and Jordan sighs.

“It’s doing us good because we’re the only ones who are going to be able to do anything about it,” Jordan says, placing his hands on Mat’s shoulders. He squeezes lightly, and Mat relaxes. “What else?”

“You and Hall had what was considered one of the best track records in the damn agency, and so many of your cases were taken and closed.” Mat leans further into the wall, sinking a little. “What were they on?”

“They were considered major, I guess,” Jordan says, shrugging. That sets off a warning in his head, so he stops for a moment, considering. “I mean, we...it was dangerous stuff. Our last…” he trails off, not wanting to get into it. “High profile.”

“Well, that’s a pattern, isn’t it? It’s all the high profile cases. Ones with government officials, with international players,” Mat says, eyes lighting up. Jordan furrows his brows. “And it’s mundane cases too, so that we wouldn’t get suspicious. Like the one we were supposed to finish, the murder at the art museum.” He turns away from Jordan, starting to pace. “Ebs, I think I know what’s going on.” 

“You do?” Jordan says as Mat starts walking away. He suddenly feels cold. “Tell me.”

“Not yet,” Mat says, and Jordan scoffs. Mat walks back to him and smooths his hair away from his face. Jordan’s stomach flips. “I know, but trust me. I want to be right in my assumption before I get you all the way involved. You do trust me, right?”

Jordan nods, leaning into Mat’s hand. He knows he’ll find out sooner or later. “Will you at least tell Beau?” he asks, and Mat nods, a silent promise. “Tell me anyway.”

“Let me do some digging, first,” Mat says. “Then I’ll tell you everything.”

  
  


They’re at Jordan’s, going over case files for the fourth time when Mat sighs. And then sighs again. And then again. “What?” Jordan says. Mat shakes his head, so Jordan tries again. “ _ What _ ?” 

“You’re going to hate me,” Mat says, and that makes Jordan pause. He thinks back to their earlier conversation.

“Why would I do that?” Jordan asks, and Mat takes a deep breath. And then another, and before he can even open his mouth, Jordan realizes what he’s about to say. “No.”

“Ebs,” Mat says, and Jordan shakes his head.

“You can go but I will  _ not _ be going.” He cleans up the beer bottles and throws them in his recycling. “I’ll decorate my apartment while you’re gone.”

“You’ve never decorated a single thing in your life.” Mat blocks him in against his fridge, and Jordan rolls his eyes. “Jordan,” he says, and Jordan looks at him. “Come to Edmonton with me. Hall  _ knows  _ something. I know he does, you know he does.”

“I can’t,” Jordan says, and he sounds way calmer than he feels. He tries to wriggle away from Mat, but Mat pins him against the fridge. “ _ Mathew _ .”

“Dude, come  _ on _ ,” Mat says, getting slightly impatient. “He clearly–”

“I said I  _ can’t _ !” Jordan screams, and Mat steps back, flinching. “I fucking said I can’t go see him, and you need to respect that!”

“It’s not your fucking fault he got shot and blown up!” Mat throws back. Jordan blinks back tears. He’s so full of rage it’s hard to feel anything else, but Mat’s words cut him in a way that not even his therapist’s do. “He’s not  _ dead _ ! He’s fine! Maybe he’s confined to desk work for the rest of his life, but he’s not fucking dead, and he’s called you thousands of times, and you keep not answering. And  _ that’s on you _ !” Mat finally stops, breathing heavily. Jordan deflates entirely after that. He’s never seen Mat lose his temper like that, and it’s really fucking awful to be on the wrong side of it.

“You’re right,” Jordan says quietly. Mat’s head snaps toward him, and Jordan takes a deep breath. “It is on me.”

“Okay,” Mat says, and he runs his hands through his hair, smoothing it down. “I’m sorry I pushed it. I’m just.” He gestures toward the door, but Jordan reaches out and grabs his wrist, independent of his own brain. He didn’t think it through this far, but Mat’s looking at him, now.

“Stay,” Jordan says. His voice is quiet, like he doesn’t want to speak anymore, and Mat sighs. “Please.”

“Okay,” Mat says softly. He twists his hand around so he’s holding Jordan’s now, and he laces their fingers together. Jordan just breathes with him.

Mat leads him to the bedroom, and they move methodically, stripping down to only their boxers and crawling into bed silently, exhausted after that short conversation. Jordan doesn’t know how to fix this, because he knows Mat won’t let this go, but going to Edmonton would throw him so hard he wouldn’t be able to function, he thinks. He doesn’t like to be out of control, and seeing Edmonton, seeing  _ Taylor _ , might just push him over the edge.

Jordan can tell that Mat isn’t asleep yet, though, so he rolls over and throws his arm over Mat’s waist.

“You’re not subtle,” Mat says, and it feels too loud. He rolls over to face Jordan and pushes his hair out of his eyes.  _ He’s beautiful _ , Jordan thinks. “Hi.”

“Hi,” Jordan says, tucking a strand of hair behind Mat’s ear. “I think I haven’t been entirely truthful with you.” Mat curls in closer to him, and he hums. “It’s—it’s my fault. It’s my fault he got shot and blown up.”

“It’s not your fault. Also, you can call him a name, you know,” Mat murmurs, fingers tracing lightly over Jordan’s eyebrow. “I know how much he meant to you.” Jordan almost balks at how unnatural his name sounds coming out of Mat’s mouth, but he bucks up.

“It is my fault,” he says. “I got distracted. I wasn’t looking. If I’d just paid attention–”

“He still would’ve gotten shot,” Mat says quietly, running his hand up and down Jordan’s back.

Jordan freezes. His whole body feels cold. “What?”

“Ebs, come on,” Mat says, kissing his neck gently. Jordan shivers. “He was getting shot no matter what. It’s not because you got distracted.” He opens his eyes, now, and Jordan doesn’t want to see the expression on his face, but when he looks up, Mat’s just radiating love. It makes his stomach turn. “If you hadn’t been distracted, maybe you would’ve gotten hit instead. Who knows.”

“I would’ve taken a bullet for him,” Jordan says, and his voice is scratchy and thick. The  _ I would’ve died for him  _ goes unsaid. He swallows the giant lump in his throat. “You have to know that.”

“I do know that,” Mat murmurs. He kisses Jordan’s hair, and Jordan closes his eyes, relishing in the quiet tenderness Mat is showing him. It makes him  _ feel _ so much. “It’s hard to not focus on the what ifs.”

“But I shouldn’t,” Jordan finishes, and Mat nods. “You sound like my therapist.”

Mat snorts. “She’s a smart lady.” Jordan kisses Mat’s shoulder, and Mat hums, sounding delighted. “Please come to Edmonton with me.”

Jordan’s chest constricts and he takes a deep breath. “Mat,” he starts, and Mat shakes his head. 

“I won’t have access if you don’t come,” Mat says. Jordan buries his face in Mat’s shoulder. “Please.” Mat’s never sounded this desperate before.

“Okay,” he says. “Okay.”

 

* * *

 

 

Jordan’s body shakes as he steps off the plane, Mat flush against his back. “You okay?” Mat murmurs, and Jordan nods, pushing through the throng of people at the gate exit. Mat’s warmth is suddenly gone, and Jordan can hear him apologizing to someone for bumping into them. Mat catches back up to him. “Dead drop is done. Now we wait.”

Jordan moves through the airport on autopilot. He knows the ins and outs, the faster way to baggage claim, the best place to grab a pretzel. He thinks he could point it out, but his mouth doesn’t want to move. He feels like he might burst into tears at any time.

“Is that the pretzel place you were telling me about?” Mat asks as they pass it, and it pulls Jordan out of his pity party for a brief moment. He smiles a little. “They smell amazing.”

“You want one?” Jordan says, voice rough with disuse. “We can stop.” He doesn’t really mean it, but Mat gives him a look of pure delight. 

Finally, with pretzels in hand, they make it to the taxi area. One pulls up and opens the door. “Hey, Ebby,” the guy says, and Jordan’s eyes widen. 

“Nuge?!” he exclaims, scrambling to get in the car. Ryan shakes his head as he gets out, and Jordan’s grief quiets a bit. “Hi,” he says, muffled by Ryan’s shoulder. “It’s been a while.”

“Sure has, bud,” Ryan says. “This your new partner?” 

Jordan goes to introduce him, but Mat’s already sticking his hand out. “Did you call him Ebby? That’s amazing. I just completely shortened it. I’m Mat, by the way.” Ryan laughs, charmed by Mat’s smile and energy, and a burst of pride shoots through Jordan’s whole body.

“I’m Special Agent Ryan Nugent-Hopkins, or Nuge, as  _ Ebby _ likes to call me,” Ryan says, and Jordan sighs.

“Okay, Nuge, enough,” he says, laughing a little. It feels good. He’s twisted up with nerves, but something about Edmonton is calming. Something about it makes him feel comfortable, still, even though he feels unwelcome. “I didn’t know you were picking us up. Did you…?” He trails off, looking at Mat, who at least has the decency to look sheepish. Jordan raises an eyebrow.

“Okay, I might have called. They’re so graciously letting us use their office while we’re here,” Mat says, and Jordan tilts his head. Mat just smiles though, and turns to Ryan. “Thank you for letting us just drop in.”

“It’s really no problem. Anything for an old friend.” A shiver runs down Jordan’s spine, and he narrows his eyebrows at Mat. Ryan whistles as he walks to the other side of the car, seemingly blissfully unaware of the silent conversation Mat and Jordan are having. 

Mat gestures to the front passenger side. “After you,” he says, and Jordan grimaces, sliding in. The ride is silent, difficult. Jordan can’t see Mat from his position, and his chest tightens, hands clammy. Ryan doesn’t say much beyond saying he’s missed Jordan, and that he should call more. Jordan can’t do much but nod.

By the time they pull up to the hotel, Jordan’s heart is jackhammering through his shirt. He’s convinced Ryan can see it, though Ryan says nothing. “You should come by the office,” he offers instead, and Jordan just nods, though he can hear Mat answering for him. He sits on the couch in the lobby as Mat checks them in, and he thinks, once again, about how bad of an idea this is. 

“Come on,” Mat murmurs, and Jordan hears an old woman say something about them being a lovely couple. Jordan stands and grips Mat’s hand tightly. Mat pulls him to the elevators, practically drags him to the room, and sits him on the bed. “Can you breathe for me, Ebs?” Jordan shakes his head. “Come on.”

“I c-can’t,” Jordan hiccups, and he’s embarrassed at the display of emotion he’s giving as he gasps for air. “I don’t think I—I can’t.”

“It’s okay, Ebs,” Mat says, kissing Jordan’s forehead. He’s sure the action was meant to calm him down, but it only serves to make him start crying. “Shit, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” Mat’s running his hand up and down Jordan’s back, muttering “I’m sorry” over and over again until his tears start to slow.

“Fuck,” Jordan says, and he takes a deep, shuddering breath. “Fuck.”

“I thought seeing Ryan would help,” Mat says, suddenly sounding small. Jordan scoffs.

“It didn’t,” he says, voice flat. Mat flinches, and Jordan thinks  _ good, he deserves it _ , before grabbing his phone and a key card. “I’m leaving.”

“Ebs, you can’t—”

“I can and I will.” He slams the door, recognizing that he’s being emotional and mean and terrible in every way, and that his thinking is compromised, but he leaves the hotel anyway, ball cap still on his head. 

He’s listless, totally unaware of where he’s walking until he’s standing outside an apartment complex not three blocks from the hotel. His phone buzzes.  _ Mat _ . He declines, and stares up at the building. He stands there for what feels like hours, staring. Every time he thinks he’s going to make a move he second-guesses.

“Take a picture, it’ll last longer,” he hears, and his head whips around. 

“Hallsy,” he breathes.

“Hi, Ebby.”

  
  


“So,” Taylor starts, handing Jordan a mug. “It’s been a while.”

“It has.” Jordan looks around. “Did you redecorate?”

“Does it matter?” Taylor asks, and Jordan nods. “What are you doing here?”

“I—” Jordan cuts himself off, looking into his tea. He swirls the teabag around for something to do, and takes a deep breath. And then another. “I got mad at my partner.” Taylor raises an eyebrow. “I left him in the hotel room. My feet took me here.” He would gag at the poeticism if he wasn’t still so upset.

“Jesus, Ebby, do you ever learn?” Taylor sounds exasperated, mad, even, but underneath it all, Jordan can hear what he’s been craving: fondness. Taylor missed this, missed  _ him _ . “Call him.”

“He’s probably mad,” Jordan says.

Taylor rolls his eyes. “Call him anyway.”

Jordan excuses himself, walking the narrow hallway to Taylor’s bathroom, and shuts the door.  _ 8 missed calls, 10 text messages _ . He swipes on one of the calls.

“Ebs, holy  _ fuck _ ,” Mat says, and he sounds relieved. Jordan’s chest tightens again. “Where the fuck are you?”

“I...I just took a walk,” he answers, and Mat sighs. “I’m fine. I’m…” he trails off, hedging his bets. Mat will know if he’s lying, because Mat can ascertain whether anyone’s lying within seconds, and Mat knows Jordan. On the other hand, Mat knows there was some history between him and Taylor. 

“Are you at Hall’s right now?” Jordan blinks. “You can’t lie to me, you know that.”

“I’m a spy, Mat,” he says. “I’m an expert at lying.”

“You’re there, aren’t you? Why did you go without me?”

“Isn’t that what this whole trip was for? Exposure therapy for my fucking PTSD?” Jordan spits out, and he hears Mat’s breath catch, but he can’t stop the words from tumbling out. “You just wanted a normal partner, now I’m here making peace with my demons for you because you’re on a path to prove you’re right about a nutty conspiracy.”

“Fuck _ you _ ,” Mat growls, and Jordan feels shame blossom in his gut. “Fuck you so much, asshole. I’ll leave the door unbolted or what fucking ever.” The line cuts out, and Jordan slams his phone on the counter. He walks back to Taylor who’s still sitting at the table.

“Good going,” he says, and Jordan rolls his eyes. “Don’t give me that look.”

“What look?”

“The one that you always give me. “I’m right and you’re wrong” or whatever.” Taylor pulls the spoon out of his mug, clinking it against the side. “How’d you fuck up this time?”

“He wants more from me than I can give him,” Jordan blurts, and Taylor snorts. “Asshole, don’t laugh. I don’t...I don’t know how to tell him.” 

“Jordan,” Taylor says, stern. Jordan shuts up. “You’ve gotta move on sometime, right? From here, from me?” Jordan looks up, and Taylor’s eyes are glassy. “Edmonton was good to you for so long. Good to us. But we were never…” Taylor trails off. “The agency, I had it in my grasp. I know I did. But they tried to…” He takes a deep breath.

“Wait,” Jordan says, but it’s as though he’s not there anymore. Taylor’s face is gaunt, hands clenched. “Hallsy.”

“Something was wrong, Jordan. But you’re so by the books.” Taylor shakes his head, laughing. “You didn’t even know.”

“Know what?” Jordan reaches across the table, but pulls back at the last second. “You’re not making sense.”

“Call your partner,” Taylor says. “Let’s catch you up.”

 

It takes a bit of coercing, but Mat knocks at Taylor’s door less than 30 minutes after Jordan calls him a second time. When Jordan opens the door, Mat’s eyes are bloodshot.

“Are you o—” he starts, but Mat’s stepping around him.

“Special Agent Hall?” he says, sticking his hand out. “I’m Special Agent Barzal. It’s so nice to put a face to the name.” Taylor smiles, and for once, it doesn’t seem haunted. 

“Just Taylor, now,” he says. “Ryan told me you were here.”

“He did?” Jordan asks.

“What do you think is going on?”

“I think there’s a plot to start a war, and I think Director Bettman’s in on it,” Mat says, and Jordan snorts. Mat whips his head around. “You’re on thin fucking ice right now, I wouldn’t laugh.”

“I think you’re right,” Taylor says. Jordan’s head snaps to him, and Taylor sighs. “I’ll tell you why.”

 

_ Taylor thinks maybe, just maybe, he wasn’t cut out for this job.  _

_ He’s lying on his desk, eyes closed, thinking of some alternative to this job when a file smacks his chest. “Hall, Eberle!” Maclellan yells. “In my office, now!” _

_ He and Jordan get told they’re going to be working some high profile cases from now on. High profile like Prime Minister high profile, international politics high profile. Taylor feels something, for the first time in a while. He feels...important.  _

_ Taylor and Jordan start out great. Amazing, even. They close cases as quickly as they’re coming in. They’ve got great turnaround rate. The whole agency is looking to them to be the example. Their tech guy, Ryan...he’s even better. And Taylor slowly but surely falls in love. _

_ Of course, that can’t last. Because Taylor Hall may be gifted, talented...brilliant, even. But he’s never been meant for good things.  _

_ Their cases get red-taped. Ryan gets transferred to a different team in the office, and Taylor feels unimportant again. He can’t close the cases. Jordan is frustrated, but he believes so wholeheartedly in the system that it makes Taylor want to gag. They fight. Maclellan keeps taking their almost finished cases, saying the Director’s declared them closed. It seems wrong. He snags Ryan, one day. _

_ “Will you help me?” he begs. _

_ Ryan agrees. “Are we grabbing Jordan?” _

_ “No,” Taylor says, and that’s that. _

_ Jordan’s incredibly by the books. He wouldn’t dream going behind Mac’s back like this. He barely even tells Taylor when he’s frustrated about their cases. He’d probably turn Taylor in. Taylor has to do this without him. _

_ He and Ryan keep notes on their cases, compare them over coffee and lunch, and Jordan gets jealous. Taylor says it’s work related. His relationship’s falling apart. He can’t close cases. He looks at the cases taken from him. International, global, extremely high profile...if not solved, they would have pretty big ramifications in world politics. So Taylor hatches a plan. _

_ Their next case takes them to a warehouse, and Ryan’s in Taylor’s ear, telling him that Bettman’s planted a bomb, and they need to be careful.  _

_ “There’s a bomb,” Taylor says, and then he hears it. _

_ “Fucking,” Jordan swears, looking behind him. Taylor sees the bags under his eyes. He looks weary. Worn down. “Where?” _

_ “Don’t know. Nuge found it on the heat map.” Taylor looks down a hallway, gun and flashlight pointed. “Clear.” _

_ “You’re going to say split up, and I don’t want you to,” Jordan says. “Not if there’s a bomb.” _

_ “You know we’ll cover more ground this way.”  _ I know I’ll find Bettman’s minions this way _ , Taylor thinks. “Ebby. I’ll be fine.” _

_ “Taylor,” Jordan says, and his voice is soft. There’s a tremor running through it. He loves me, Taylor thinks.  _

_ “Jordan,” Taylor says back. He takes a deep breath. “We’ll be fine.” _

_ He walks through the hall, checking every room. “Clear,” he repeats to himself under his breath, though there’s no one he’s clearing the rooms for, yet; back-up isn’t set to come in until one of them calls for it.  _

_ “Can you hear me?” Jordan’s voice crackles to life over his in-ear. “I’m seeing nothing. You sure this is good intel?” _

_ “Got it from Nuge, Ebby, you know he’s reliable,” Taylor says. He kicks a door open, gun swinging—nothing. “Where the fuck am I going?” _

_ “I’m not the one with the map in my head!” Jordan says, but he sounds like he’s laughing. Taylor here’s a loud pop. “Fuck.” _

_ “Jordan?!” he says, and suddenly he’s panicked. “Jordan, say something!” _

_ “It’s fine, he’s apprehended,” Taylor hears, and then everything goes black. _

_ When he wakes, Director Bettman is standing over him. _

_ “You didn’t need to hit me over the head to get me alone,” Taylor squirms. Two large men are holding him back. “I’m your  _ agent _ , you should know that.” _

_ “And I do,” Bettman says. “Do you want to die today, Agent Hall?” _

_ “No.” Taylor shakes his head. “But I want you to.” _

_ Bettman hums. He flicks his wrist, and the men let Taylor fall to the floor, as another loud bang echoes through the complex. Jordan yells.  _

_ “NO!” Taylor screams, though it feels futile. “Please, no, not him, anything but that!” Taylor is openly sobbing, but he can hear Jordan yelling for him. “Please.” _

_ Bettman grabs him by his collar, their faces inches apart. “Then you won’t say anything about what you know, what you’ve found out today,” he hisses, dropping Taylor back down. He and his men walk out, and Taylor can’t find his gun, he can’t find his gun, where the fuck is his gun— _

_ “Taylor?!” _

_ “Jordan?!” he yells, and there he is, and he’s fine, he looks fine. Nothing’s hurt, Jordan’s fine. “Jordan, thank god, I thought–” _

_ “It’s fine,” Jordan says, cupping Taylor’s face. “You’re bleeding.” He turns away, seemingly to find what did this. _

_ “It’s nothing, I’m–” _

_ Boom. _

 

Jordan can’t breathe. He’s certain he can’t breathe. Mat and Taylor are talking, and then Taylor’s telling  _ the  _ story and Jordan can’t—

“Ebs?” he hears. Mat sounds far away. “Jesus, Ebs.” A hand grips his wrist. “You’re safe, okay? You’re here, in Hallsy’s kitchen, with me, and you’re safe.” Jordan feels like he’s looking through a tunnel, like everything is upside down and twisted around. He hears Taylor ask Mat if this is normal. 

“It’s my fault,” he whispers, and Taylor and Mat’s heads turn to him at the same time.

“What?” Taylor asks.

“It’s my fault, it’s my fault, if I hadn’t turned around I would’ve heard it I would’ve pushed you away I— I— I—” Jordan’s breath hitches and Mat takes his other wrist too, holding on hard.

“Ebs, hey, it’s okay,” he says.

Taylor stands. “No,” he says. His voice carries a note of finality that Jordan’s never heard. Mat snaps to attention.

“What?” Jordan asks.

“I said no.” Taylor gives Mat a look, and Mat moves, looking through the cabinets for a glass, anything to keep his hands busy. “Jordan. I would have died for you, do you know that?” Mat stops moving.

“Tay—”

“No, Jordan, listen to me. I would have died for you that day. I kept these things from you, knowing that was stupid. But I don’t blame you.” Jordan blinks. “Do you hear me, Jordan?” Taylor smooths Jordan’s hair back. “I don’t blame you. I don’t. You ignore me for months, then show up here at my apartment, and I  _ let you in _ and you still think I blame you? I blame no one but Director Bettman and his followers for this.” He gestures at his cane. “I’m doing okay, Jordan. I don’t blame you.” 

Jordan takes a breath, and it feels like deliverance.

 

* * *

 

 

Mat and Jordan are quiet on their way back to the hotel, the elevator ride up. Jordan sits on the bed, methodically unbuttoning his shirt, stripping down completely. He covers himself with a towel. 

“I need...to process,” he says. Mat nods. “I’m gonna shower.”

“Okay.” Mat plugs his phone in, shooting off a message. “I might fall asleep while you’re in there.”

“Oh,” Jordan says.

“I could stay awake?”

“No, I just.” Jordan tugs at the ends of his hair. “You could join me?”

“Oh!” Mat hops up. “Yeah, sure, yeah, just start it, and I’ll meet you.” He smiles and Jordan feels like he’s seeing the sun for the first time.

He turns the shower on, letting it run for a bit before stepping in. It’s warm on his clammy skin, and it’s like the months of guilt are going down the drain with the grime on his body. His chest doesn’t feel tight, his brain isn’t swimming. The curtain opens, and Mat steps in and leans up against him, pressing his mouth to Jordan’s shoulder.

“Hi,” he mumbles. “I’m sorry I yelled at you.”

“No, Barz,” Jordan says. “I’m sorry, too.”

“Are you...I know you and Hall were like, a thing? I don’t really know.” Mat’s hair is still dry, somehow, and Jordan splashes him lightly. It makes him smile. “Are you okay?”

“My therapist always tells me that I need confirmation on things,” Jordan says. Mat furrows his eyebrows, and Jordan kisses the spot right in the middle. “She said I knew that Taylor didn’t blame me, but that the only way I would stop is if I knew for sure he didn’t. So she told me to call him. And I couldn’t pick up the phone.” Jordan leans against the wall, water running down the back of his neck. It tickles, a bit, and he scratches at the spot. Mat kisses it. “I loved him, I think.”

“Oh,” Mat says.

“And I never told him.” Jordan sighs. “I just assumed he’d know. I’ve only felt like I felt for him twice in my life. I’ve never told either of them.”

“Is...is it good that you saw him, then?” Mat asks.

“I don’t love him anymore,” Jordan says,  and a feeling of relief washes over him. It’s freeing to say. “I don’t love him anymore, and I think I can leave Edmonton behind. I don’t need to bring it with me when we leave.”

“It’s not that easy,” Mat says, and Jordan nods. “I...can help you, though. If you want.”

“I do,” Jordan says, and presses his mouth to Mat’s. His hands trace over the small birthmark on Mat’s shoulder, the divot in his chin. They kiss for a long time, until their fingers prune and Jordan’s hair is almost dry. 

“Props to the hotel for having endless hot water, eh?” Mat whispers, small smile on his lips, and Jordan laughs, and it makes Mat laugh, and they laugh through getting ready for bed, through brushing their teeth and washing their faces. Finally, Mat’s tucked into Jordan’s side, and his eyes keep fluttering shut.

“You gonna fall asleep on me?” Jordan teases, running his fingers through Mat’s hair. He leans down to kiss Mat’s forehead, and Mat smiles. 

“‘M tired, babe,” he mumbles, and Jordan blushes bright red. Mat doesn’t even seem to notice what he’s said. “You should sleep too.”

“I will,” Jordan whispers. Mat curls into him, and his breathing evens out, and Jordan’s still awake. He brushes Mat’s hair away from his face, tracing from his forehead down to the tip of his nose. Mat scrunches his face in his sleep, and Jordan’s delighted. 

_ I love him _ , Jordan thinks.

 

* * *

 

 

They land in New York on a Monday. They get a message from John on a Tuesday. 

_ Agent Matthews is missing _ , it reads.  _ Help needed _ .

Mat’s shaken, having known Agent Matthews from the academy, but he grabs Tito in his first day back.

“You’re going to get me fucking fired,” Tito says, but he sits down, resigned. “What’s up?”

“Special Agent Auston Matthews, MIA,” Jordan says, looking at Mat. His eyes are crazed, but that’s the only way you’d know this was even affecting him. “We need all possible information.”

Tito’s already typing. “Was working on a case with the Prime Minister and the President,” he reads. Jordan looks at Mat. He’s chewing on his fingernail. Jordan slaps his hand away. “Went into the American embassy. Has not returned.”

“Matthews is American,” Mat says to himself. “Why would his own country kidnap him?”

“Beau, please tell me you’ve got something else,” Jordan says. Tito pushes his glasses back up, scanning the screen. His pupils dilate. “What do you have?”

“Agent Nylander’s been dismissed,” Tito says.

“Why does that matter?” Mat asks.

“They were partners,” Tito says. “Says here Nylander gave him up.”

“Well,” Jordan says, and Tito and Mat look at him. “How do we get to him?”

 

Mat takes a sick day and flies to Sweden, solo. Jordan hates it. Tito assures him that Mat is capable and Mat will be fine, and that’s all well and good, because Jordan knows that. Of  _ course _ Mat is capable of handling himself. He’s a great agent. It doesn’t help his case that Nylander’s good  _ too _ , and if he’s really a double agent, then Mat’s shit out of luck. 

Jordan does his expense report three times to calm himself down, and gets called into Weight’s office after starting it a fourth time, except it’s not Weight that’s sitting in there.

“SSA Trotz?” Jordan asks, and Trotz stands. “I...sir, it’s a pleasure.”

“Pleasure’s mine,” Trotz says. “Weight’s been removed.”

“Oh.” Jordan swallows, but he keeps his tone even. He wishes Mat was here so he could somehow say  _ SOMETHING’S WRONG _ in big flashing letters. “I wasn’t aware.”

“It was a quick turnaround,” Trotz says. “I just noticed your partner isn’t in. Barzal, right?” 

If Jordan hadn’t trusted him before, the way he said Mat’s name sunk him. Jordan smiles, nodding. “That’s right, sir. He’s sick today.”

“In Sweden?” Trotz asks. Jordan breathes in, out, unnoticeably.

“He’s got family there,” he lies, smoothly. “Has already taken some family leave, didn’t want to use more.”

“Oh, I see,” Trotz says, and he seems genuine. Jordan looks for something to tell him that Trotz is a master manipulator, but he can’t find one. “Sorry about that. If he needs more time—”

“He doesn’t, sir,” Jordan says, ever calm while his brain is screaming at him. “He’ll be in tomorrow. Told me himself.”

“Good, I look forward to meeting him.” Trotz gestures to the door, and Jordan nods, making his way out of their quickly and without suspicion. He takes his lunch break immediately, dropping a note on Tito’s desk. By the time Tito meets him outside, Jordan’s texted Mat three times.

“Something’s wrong, Beau,” he says. “I lost five pounds.”

“What?” Tito says, head cocked to the side. “I mean, have you not met your daily caloric intake?”

Jordan snorts. “No, Beau. I just...I lost five pounds. Randomly, I swear!” He looks at Tito, who figures it out.  _ Weight’s gone _ .

“Oh, shit. Do you know how?”  _ What happened to him? _

“No, got no clue. It happened pretty suddenly, though? I’m thinking I’ve been exercising too much, too much training.”  _ We’ve been reckless, and we’re going to be caught _ .

Tito inhales sharply. “Okay. You’ll be fine, though, don’t worry. Have you told your boyfriend?”  _ Have you told Mat? _

Jordan wants to smack Tito for calling Mat his boyfriend, but he doesn’t have time. “No. Thought you should know, since you’re here.” Tito nods, and Jordan knows he has to tell Mat somehow. Tito heads back upstairs, leaving Jordan to call.

Mat doesn’t pick up.

Jordan tries again, and gets Mat’s voicemail again. “Hey, uh, it’s me. Call me.” A sense of dread crawls all over his skin.  _ Mat’s fine, Mat’s fine, Mat’s fine _ . 

Jordan drags his body back up the stairs to his desk. Tito’s typing away quickly. Anders looks fine. Jordan looks at his office, the one he’s begun to call home and vows to make sure they’re safe. His phone rings.

“Hey, Ebs,” Mat says, and relief floods his system. “Why’d you call?”

“Uh, I had to tell you something,” he says. Mat stays silent. “How’s it going, over there?”

“It’s fine,” Mat says.

“Just fine? Barz, talk to me.” Jordan walks outside again. The sky is rumbling. “Barz.”

“Nylander and I are here. Everything’s fine, Ebs. How’s Trotz?” The sirens blare in Jordan’s brain again. Something’s wrong.

“He’s nice. I like him. Come home soon, okay?”  _ I miss you, I need you safe _ .

“I will, Ebs. See ya.” Mat hangs up and Jordan knows. He runs up the stairs, into the office, grabs Anders and Tito and pulls them into an empty conference room. 

“We’ve gotta get to Sweden,” he says, and Tito looks haunted.

“For what?” Anders asks.

“We’ve gotta rescue Mat,” Tito says. “It’s time.”

 

The plane ride is long and stifling. Jordan paces back and forth as Tito fills Anders in on the situation at hand. Jordan has a moment of truth, and calls John.

“Come to Sweden,” he says, the moment he hears John say hello. “We’ve gotta save Mat.”

“I can’t just drop everything and come to Sweden,” John says. “What’s wrong with him?”

“Something’s wrong,” Jordan says. He knows he sounds paranoid. He doesn’t care. “Something’s wrong, and he’s in danger, and I think Nylander is, too. Bring back up.” Jordan hangs up, knowing it’s a gamble. John’s more by the books than he is. 

“It’s still worth it to try,” Anders says, and his voice is gentle. Jordan looks up, and Anders slides into the seat next to him. “John’s a good man. If his team’s in danger, he’ll help.”

“I know.” Jordan closes his eyes. “What if I’m wrong?”

“For what it’s worth, I don’t think you are,” Anders says. “I think we needed to act when we did.”

“What if we’re…” he trails off.  _ What if we’re too late?  _ Anders shakes his head and pats Jordan’s knee. They sit there in silence, prepared to do whatever they need to to find Mat. Jordan knows it’s going to be a long ride.

By the time they land, Tito’s set up their communication and tracking, and they’re in Stockholm quicker than they think. They set up shop in the hotel, and Jordan calls Mat again. He doesn’t answer. 

“I can always track him,” Tito says. “We have matching bracelets, see?” He jiggles his wrist at Jordan and Anders. “Unless he left it in New York, we should have an approximate location.” Tito types quickly, and Jordan closes his eyes, focuses on his breath.  _ Mat’s fine, Mat’s fine _ , he repeats. It’s like a mantra, now.  _ Mat’s fine _ . “Got him.”

“Send it to our phones,” Anders says. “Come on, Ebs. We’ve got work to do.”

 

* * *

 

The location is a nice house in a quiet town outside Stockholm.  _ The Nylander home _ , Jordan thinks, and he makes his way up the driveway with Anders. He pats his side; the gun there is comforting, as is the one strapped to his ankle. Anders rings the doorbell, and a woman answers.

“Hello,” she says, smiling. Jordan immediately notices the stilt in her smile, the dullness of her eyes.  _ Something’s wrong _ . “Are you here for William?”

“We are,” Anders says. “How’d you know?”

“Oh, he said someone would be coming today!” she exclaims, leading them inside. That strikes Jordan as odd. There’s a winding staircase, a kitchen with a beautiful view, and then a blond man is standing in front of them.

“Oh, you’re not who I thought was coming,” he says. Jordan takes in his appearance. He’s cherub-like, angelic, even, and he looks just like the woman who answered the door. “You must be Agent Eberle?” He looks panicked, Jordan thinks, like maybe they’re running on borrowed time.

“Jordan?” he hears, and he looks behind the man who must be Nylander.

“ _ Mat _ ,” he breathes, running to him, cupping his face. “Thank god, I knew something was—”

“Why’d you come?” Mat mumbles, and he looks scared too. “You’re in danger, why’d you fucking come?”

“I’m here to fucking save you, idiot,” Jordan says, and he kisses Mat, and all the panic in his head quiets.  _ He’s here, he’s safe, he’s fine _ .

“We’re not safe here,” Nylander says, frantic. “They’re coming. They’re coming. We have to get Auston and get out.”

“Auston?” Jordan hears, and he turns around to see John and another man in the kitchen. “Where is he, Willy?” The man runs in the room.

“Mitch—” Nylander says, and it clicks. Agent Marner.

“Where the fuck is he?” Marner spits out, looking at Nylander. For a man who radiates calm, the ire in his eyes betrays his real emotions. “This is your  _ fucking fault _ , if you hadn’t turned him in—”

“I don’t think he did, Marns,” Mat says, and Jordan remembers, yet again, that Mat had a whole life before him. “Willy’s just as in danger as the rest of us. They framed him.”

“But I know where he is,” Nylander says, and that seems to placate Marner for a moment. “We have to get him back.”

“Sweden and Canada have declared war on America,” John says. “Just this morning. The media believes Matthews is dead.”

“He’s not,” Marner says, and he sounds so sure. “I would know. He’s not.”

“You’re right.” Nylander pulls Marner into a hug. “I’m so sorry. I tried.”

“I know,” Marner says, and he deflates, pulling back eventually. “I’m sorry, too.”

“I hate to break up this reunion,” Anders starts, “but we’re going to be shit out of luck if the men Nylander was expecting here come while we’re all still hugging.”

“Call me Willy,” he says.

“And call me Mitch,” Mitch pipes up. “We’ve got work to do. Let’s stop World War Three before it starts.”

 

(Jordan’s afraid, is the thing. When it was just him and Anders, he was fine. Now, there’s a million more people, and Willy’s called his friend Kappy, and Jordan wonders who made these names up, but also how they’re going to rescue Auston when there’s eight thousand of them barging into unknown territory.

Jordan  _ seriously _ thinks he was not cut out to save the world.)

 

After grabbing Tito, Willy drives the van they stole from his neighbor’s place to a place three hours from Stockholm. It’s wooded, mountainous. It feels like something from a movie, big fight scene on a mountain top. Willy parks at the end of the gravel road, and everyone looks to John. If anyone can get them to mobilize and rally, it’s John.

“We split up here,” he says. “Marns, you’re with me. Willy, you’re with Kap, Jordan you’re with Mat. Anders and Tito, you’re lookout.” He looks at all of them, eyes betraying the fear he feels. “Be safe,” he adds, nodding at them, and off they go. 

It’s cold, Jordan thinks, as he and Mat trudge up the hill. They see a bunker, and something catches Jordan’s eye. “Stop,” he commands, and Mat does, just before he trips a wire. “Fuck. You think this was Bettman?”

“Probably his minions. He’s in there, I bet,” Mat says. He steps back, hopping up and down. “It’s cold.”

“Come here,” Jordan says, and Mat steps to him, wrapping his arms around Jordan’s waist. Jordan folds him in his arms for a moment. They just breathe. “I need to tell you something.”

“Okay?” Mat pulls back, looking at him. “Tell me, then.”

Jordan takes a deep breath. “I love you,” he says. “Whatever happens I just need you to know that I love—”

“I love you too,” Mat says, “but no one’s dying today. Swear on it.” A loud boom echoes through the quiet forest. And then another. “We’ve gotta go.” 

They move quickly, taking their guns out. A shot whizzes past Jordan’s ear, and he turns, shooting. Mat fires off two quick shots, and they keep on. They make it to the back terrace.

“Kill or incapacitate?” Mat whispers, gesturing to the two men above them. 

“Kill only if necessary,” Jordan says back. “But make it quiet.”

Mat manages to silence one while Jordan grabs the other. He leaves them slumped against each other, cuffed to the railing, and they make it in. Through the long hallway, Jordan sees movement and turns, pointing his gun.

“Just me,” Kappy mouths, and they both put their guns down, Kappy and Willy continuing through while Mat and Jordan head the other way. A man jumps on Jordan’s back.

“Fuck!” he yells, flipping the man over. It sets off a chain of men attacking, hand to hand combat style. Mat roundhouse kicks one in the face, but he bounces back up as Jordan grabs for his gun.

“Not so fast,” the other man says, and stomps on his wrist, causing Jordan to scream. Mat breaks free, kicking his attacker in the crotch while grabbing for his gun, and he shoots the man right between the eyes. Jordan grabs for his gun, wrist still throbbing and he and Mat point it at the two men on the ground. Mat shoots one in the knee, and Jordan stomps on the other one’s ankle. 

“Should...should we talk about how you just…” Jordan starts, but Mat shakes his head.

“It’s not my first, you know that,” Mat says, and his voice is hard, face emotionless. Jordan’s heart breaks. “Come on. We’ve got to find—”

Boom.

 

* * *

 

Jordan blinks, blinded by light. He closes his eyes again. He feels groggy and he tries to move, but he can’t. He hears someone yelling his name, and it’s like a slow-motion filter was put in his brain. There’s loud noises everywhere. Someone else is yelling. He hears gunshots. Someone is screaming, very far away. It’s chaos. Everything sounds muffled; his ears are ringing. The yelling continues. He tries to sit up.

“Jordan!” he hears. The voice sounds desperate. It’s getting closer. “Jordan, please, please!” The voice is sobbing.

_ “Taylor,” he sobs. “Taylor, no, no, no, no.” Someone pulls him away, and he fights back. “No!” he screams. “He’s not breathing! He’s not breathing!!” _

“Jordan, you have to  _ wake up _ ,” he hears, the voice cracking again and he wants to, he wants to open his eyes so badly for this person. “Please, baby.”  _ Mat _ . He blinks again. “Jordan, hey, hey, it’s okay.” 

He tries to speak, but Mat shushes him. “It’s okay, open your eyes, it’s okay.” Jordan does, and Mat’s hair is matted down, blood everywhere. He reaches his hand up.

“You’re hurt,” he says, voice scratchy. His breathing quickens.

“Shh, I’m not, I’m not,” Mat soothes, smoothing Jordan’s hair back. “I’m okay. I’m fine. Can you sit up?” 

“Where’s everyone?” Jordan slurs as he moves to sit, Mat helping him. 

“I’m going to find them, okay? And then I’ll come back for you,” Mat says. Jordan tries to shake his head, but it makes him feel dizzy. “Hey, no, try not to move too much, okay? I’ll come back, baby, I promise.” Mat kisses him once, hard and fast, and then pulls away. 

“Mat!” he yells, and Mat turns back. “I’m coming.”

“Ebs, no, you—” Jordan pulls himself up.

“Shut up, Mat. I’m seeing this through.” He moves slowly toward Mat but he makes it, joints thanking him the more he moves. Mat rolls his eyes and they move through the house, making it down the stairs. Mitch is bound and gagged at the foot of the stairs, his eyes wide as he shakes his head. He gestures toward the room.

“We’re gonna make him pay,” Mat says quietly, cutting Mitch free. “Don’t worry. Come on.” Jordan hears Bettman saying something and he sees Auston Matthews, best young agent in the agency, curled on the floor. They hide.

“Do you want to die today, Agent Matthews?” Bettman asks, and Jordan can feel the terror, remembering the last time he was here. Mat’s pressed against his side, this time.

“No,” Auston says. “But I wish you would.” Jordan’s blood runs cold.

Bettman laughs. “You sound just like another one of the smart ones who figured me out,” he says, and suddenly, Mitch is standing behind him, gun to his head.

“Let him go,” he says, voice cold. “I’ll kill you.”

“Agent Marner,” Bettman says. “How nice of you to join us.” Mat shivers, next to him, but Jordan can hear the tremor in Bettman’s voice.  _ He’s scared _ .

“Let him go, Bettman. I won’t ask nicely again.” Mitch presses the barrel of the gun to the back of his neck, and Bettman hisses. “Now.”

Bettman nods, and the men move to undo Auston’s shackles. Mat moves from his position in relative silence as the scene unfolds in slow motion. Bettman whirls around but Mitch seemed to anticipate it, striking Bettman’s hand as Mat kicks the two men by Auston. Jordan watches, seemingly unable to move. It all seems too easy, he thinks. It all seems too simple.

“It is,” a voice says, and he turns.

“Dougie?” he says, suddenly feeling the pain in all his limbs. 

“It’s over for you, Eberle,” Weight says, gun pointed in the killshot. 

Jordan’s exhausted, he’s tired, and he’s got internal bleeding, he’s sure. But he stands up straight and disarms Weight. “Not today,” he says, and shoots.

_ Boom _ . 

 

* * *

 

Debriefing is Jordan’s least favorite part of finishing a case, he thinks, as he sits in a glass room, being interrogated by his supervisor and the new director. He answers methodically, arm itching--the cast not being off yet is one of the worst parts of this ordeal. 

“Are you seeking treatment for what happened?” he’s asked, and he nods, providing the name. He looks behind them to see Mat and Tito making goofy faces at him in the window, and he purses his lips, trying not to smile. 

“Finally, are you willing to be on desk duty until your injuries are healed?” He nods and they let him go.

“You free now?” Mat asks as Tito walks in. Jordan hums and they walk away, toward the exit. “We’ve got two whole weeks to ourselves.”

“We do,” Jordan says. They walk in silence, reaching Jordan’s car. “I meant it, by the way. What I said.”

Mat tilts his head. “What do you mean?” he asks. Jordan blushes, and Mat smiles, ducking his head. “I know you did. And I meant it right back.”

Jordan drives to his apartment and he orders food with Mat, and Mat steals a fry from him despite having his own, and Jordan thinks about how, two days ago, he was in a hospital, recovering from having been blown up, wondering how he was going to go on with his life. And then he realized.

He’s not alone in this. Mat’s here, and Mat’s stealing his fries, and he’s cuddled up on the couch next to him, and Jordan doesn’t even think about Edmonton once. Taylor comes up, and he doesn’t flinch.

It’s onto the next case, anyway.

**Author's Note:**

> this work includes the characters Auston Matthews, William Nylander, and Mitch Marner, as well as Doug Weight, Barry Trotz, Garth Snow, and Gary Bettman. there are graphic descriptions of panic attacks and PTSD, as well as depictions of gun violence, and there is implied sex between two consenting characters.
> 
> thank you so much for reading! here's the link to the mix: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/4wBjOW8lBTeUYTSqMqbdkn
> 
> if you want to talk further about it, you can find me on twitter/tumblr @adamsparirsh


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